I Came Upon A Child of God
by OmniHelix
Summary: He is committed to earning his degree in Lima. She needs him to come to New York to direct her in a musical being written by a communal group of artists. Can she convince him to take a chance on her? Post Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I own neither Glee nor its characters. The title of the story is taken from the song "Woodstock", by Joni Mitchell. Also, this story will unfold slowly. Reviews are welcome! **

It wasn't the monsters under her bed this time, nor was it The Man in the Closet. No, this time it was a bad dream. There was a scary storm, and she was trying to run to her daddies across the street but she couldn't get to them. She kept shouting, but they couldn't hear her over the wind, and the water was rising. Why did she have these kinds of dreams all of the time? Upset and unable to sleep, she grabbed her glass of water and headed downstairs to the living room where her dads were talking and listening to music.

"Rachel?" Her Daddy saw her head peep around the corner. "Why aren't you in bed?"

She slurped some water and ran into the room, trembling. Then she set her her glass down and rocketed onto the couch, burying herself between her dads. Immediately, they pulled closer and hugged her tightly.

"Bad dream, honey?" Dad asked, kissing the top of her head. She nodded furiously, not speaking, and all three of them sat quietly together, until Rachel calmed down.

"That's Frank Sinatra" she said, when she felt safe again.

"Right! Very good!" Daddy said. "Are you okay now?" She nodded. "Do you want to tell us about the dream?"

"There was a scary storm, and I couldn't get to you."

Dad shook his head, and both dads pulled even closer.

"That is scary. But we're here together now, right? Safe as bugs in a rug."

She nodded again, cuddling close. They sat quietly some more.

"Are you ready to go back to sleep?"

"No!" she cried. "What if I have the dream again?"

Daddy thought for a moment, then said,

"Well, you could keep the bad dream away by having a good dream instead, right?"

She gave him as dubious a look as a five-year-old girl could.

"I guess… but how do I do that?"

Her Daddy smiled, looking very, very wise.

"What do you think would be a good dream? If you think about it hard enough before falling asleep, then maybe you'll have it."

Rachel mulled the idea over. She remembered watching "Funny Girl" the day before.

"I'll dream about being _Fanny!_" she announced. Her dads clapped.

**XXXxxx**

She stopped, as she did every now and then, in Times Square before going to rehearsals, to remind herself that being Fanny Brice was not a dream anymore, but, was, instead, a blissful reality. The huge image of her on the billboard, wearing the iconic leopard skin hat and coat, was reassuring. All that work and heartache had actually paid off.

She was glad, though, that her life had settled into a welcome routine, after all the craziness when her casting was announced. Santana and Kurt had jumped wildly about the apartment, planning party after party. Her Dad said Daddy almost fainted when she called them. And Principal Figgins considered naming a girl's bathroom after her when Mr Schue told him the news.

It was thrilling, but had yet to be made real to her. Up to now, the news was nothing more than an abstract, longed-for moment, a culmination, a bulwark against bad dreams. To be transformed into what it truly was, a living, breathing, embodiment of her _purpose,_ she had to share it with the one person who understood what drove her, what gave her purpose form and substance. None of it could matter, or be real until she shared it with Finn.

Thank goodness the two of them had managed to reach a good place, she thought. No, they hadn't officially gotten back together, but at least the drama and the insecurities were finally over. Brody was gone. Finn was working on his degree. They still loved each other. And each felt free to tap into the bedrock friendship that had never wavered, even when their romance seemed doomed, the friendship that had swept away the "no-contact" rule like a flood obliterating an earthen dam. Rachel talked to Finn at least once a day now. Her favorite time was when she was tucked in bed, exhausted, his warm voice reassuring and wishing her a good night. And, most significantly, each would take turns singing the other to sleep. It felt good to have hope again, instead of heartbreak.

Rachel waited for a time in the afternoon when she was sure he would be out of class, and, sitting excitedly on her couch, entered his speed dial code. She imagined him seeing her ID come up on his phone, and gingerly picking it up, hoping for the best, but prepared to comfort her if it was the worst.

"Hi." He said it simply, carefully.

"Hi." Part of her was screaming to just tell him. But she had to say this first. "Finn…I heard from the producers, but I have to tell you something first, so please be patient."

"Um, okay".

She knew he was champing at the bit, but this couldn't wait. "Before I met you, the only people who believed in me were my dads. I never felt that any of my teachers or coaches understood what drove me—they only seemed to see the result of that drive—my voice. Do you know what I mean? "

"Yeah. I do."

Of course he did, she thought. That was the whole point.

"Even in Glee club," Rachel continued, "my friends came to recognize and acknowledge my talent, grudgingly in some cases, but they never understood where the drive behind it came from. I'm not even sure if my dads fully understand it, either. You are the only exception, _my_ only exception." She could feel him smiling to himself on the other end. "Finn, you know where my passion comes from, you've known and touched its root, because it has the same root within you, and that's why you've always given me perfect advice. You are _my _moose..." It was hard to go on, from the lump in her throat. "That's why you and I have to be together. That's why we have to be each other's last love. Nobody but you could have pointed me towards finding that perfect song for my callback." A pause, for dramatic, Rachel Berry effect. "I only hope I can deserve your belief in me."

It was quiet on the line for a moment. Then:

"So I take it you're the next Fanny Brice?" Then they laughed, openly and easily again, and he told her he loved her and was so proud he could burst, and could she get him front row tickets, and she said she loved him, and that of course she could get him front row tickets and could they _officially _un-break up, now?

He flew out to New York with her dads, finishing and emailing a paper to one of his professors while on the plane. Apparently Carmen Tibideaux wanted to discuss Rachel's future at NYADA with her and her family. He stayed at the apartment, and he made love to her when he was there, easing the anxiety and reinforcing the knowledge that he was there for her, and always would be.

The situation with NYADA resolved itself unexpectedly.

"Most drama schools do not allow students to take full time acting positions," Carmen had said. "The student is required to withdraw from the program, but is given full credit for performance hours." She acknowledged Rachel's confusion, continuing," But we are different." She leaned against the edge of her desk, smiling. "Most times these kinds of roles are small, and are for productions that do not last very long, so our policy is to let the student get the experience in cooperation with her instructors." Rachel nodded now; that's what she had been led to expect. "However, Rachel's situation is very, very unusual. Not only has she, a freshman, garnered a lead role in a Broadway production, we here at NYADA are of the opinion, given the reputation of the producers, that the show has a very good chance of being a success. At the very least, we see it having a run of at least one year, possibly more." Rachel and her dads looked at one other in wonder. Carmen smiled, nodding. "So…we feel this situation calls for the invoking of what we call the Career Support Curriculum, something we have only had to invoke twice in our history, and which isn't advertised."

The Career Support Curriculum, or CSC, was put in place thirty years ago when Jack Gilliam, the three-time Tony winner, then a sophomore at NYADA, won the role of King Mongkut in a revival of _The King and I_, which ran for two years. The Dean of Students at the time felt that NYADA could make a positive contribution to a student actor's working career while he or she was engaged in long-term outside employment, and at the same time it could also move that student forward in the degree program as well. The CSC was designed to accommodate a typical working Broadway actor's day. The Dean, Jean Studer, knew most actors arose around 10 am, and that many would take a dance or acting class in the early afternoon, before showing up for work at seven in the evening for that night's performance. So she hired two highly-qualified adjunct instructors for Gilliam, to be available for individualized classes to fit his schedule: a dance instructor, and an acting and vocal coach. Gilliam was a strong actor and dancer, so he had two one-hour vocal lessons during the week, and one acting and dance class each, all in the early afternoon. He was charged 25% of the normal annual tuition while the show was in production. He also received the full ten upper-division credits for Performance, half-credit for the required sophomore-level dance, vocal and acting classes for the first year of the show, then full credit after the second year. He also received credit for the mandatory "Practicalities" class, which addressed the mundane challenges working actors face, such as handling money on an intermittent income, union memberships, and resume tips. All this made it easier for him to eventually finish his degree (which he did, despite also working for six months on another show when he was a senior), and he remained a vocal supporter of NYADA and a generous alumnus (which vindicated Dean Studer to the accountants, who initially objected to his steep tuition discount).

"We still think we can be relevant and helpful with regards to your career, Rachel," Carmen said, smiling.

They discussed it over dinner that night, Finn included. The producers had called and told Rachel they had purchased her membership in the Actors Equity union, because her part required union membership to ensure no labor problems. As a union member she was guaranteed a minimum of $1,605 a week, but the producers were offering her $5,000 a week to start, as the lead. She felt dazed, unsure what to do about NYADA. Did she really need this degree? Her dads scoffed.

"Rachel," Hiram said, "one of the things actors struggle with is money, and this role will bring you some serious money. Your dad and I think you should take up Carmen's offer to stay in NYADA. Your college fund will stretch much better at a 25% rate, and so we want to continue tuition and living expenses support, and you can bank the salary as a cushion for when you are on your own and between shows. NYADA is willing to accommodate you, and we are willing to keep you on the road to a degree. And you get to play Fanny Brice on Broadway! What do you say?"

Rachel looked at Finn.

"What do you think? "

He looked uncomfortable, not having expected being asked his opinion on this family matter. But she could see he deeply appreciated her trust in him.

"It sounds like a Win-Win-Win situation, Rach. You get Fanny Brice, NYADA gets to keep you, and-"He winked at her. "And your dads will be able to sleep at night knowing you're working on your degree and that you'll be in good financial shape when you are finally on your own."

The night before he left, they un-broke up. It didn't take much; for all intents and purposes they were back together. But it did need to be said out loud.

"I don't want to be broken up anymore," she whispered to him in bed. "I don't want there to be any ambiguity."

"So we don't get 'Sex in the City""? He joked gently.

"No…no…" she shook her head. "But I don't want to go back to being engaged, either."

"So you want to start over?" He didn't understand.

"We can't start over, baby," Rachel murmured, "Too much has happened, stuff that has changed us, but for the better, I think. And we have a lot of work to do. I mean, it makes sense that you stay in Lima, at least as long as you can get credit for working with New Directions." He nodded. "And I will be focusing on working here." He laughed as Rachel suddenly, adorably, squealed, "I'm Fanny Brice, oh my God!" Then she grew serious. "I want not to have to worry about us while we do this. I want us to be the one thing we can always rely on. Whether we are married or not."

She could feel him thinking in the dark, remembering the rush of emotion when he proposed to her, the joy when she accepted, and his sad certainty as he ran alongside the train. There was the crippling shame as he lay in the military hospital, the burning jealousy over Brody, and the shock when she ended it, leaving him standing, alone, in Jerusalem. It left a physical ache in her chest, knowing what he had suffered, and she grieved for both of them. They had wounded each other so, so, deeply, as only those who love each other so deeply can. But the power of that love made the healing both were undergoing possible, too. He was shedding his insecurities, like an old skin. She had left hers behind as well. The metamorphosis was almost complete; their wings were drying in the sun. Eventually they would be able to fly, back to one another.

"You can always rely on my love for you," he said.

"Then it's settled. I'm your Rachel, and you're my Finn. Perfect." She snuggled closer, stroking his face. "Can I tell you something ?"

"Anything."

"I still have the ring. And my dress."

She could feel tears on his cheeks, then. He had so wanted to marry her.

"You still want to marry me?"

"Isn't that what you meant by the two of us being 'endgame'?"

He nodded, rubbing her back.

"Don't you think we'll be able to afford something fancier, when we're ready? "

"I don't need anything fancier, "she said, and kissed him. "When we do get married, I won't feel any different about you than I did when I was seventeen. It's what I want the ring and the dress to symbolize."

That night she dreamed she was a bird, ready to take her first flight.

The Times Square crowd flowed around Rachel, nobody realizing she was the actress whose face was up there. It didn't bother her. There was time enough for that. For the time being, Rachel Berry was going to savor her peaceful anonymity, and call Finn to tell him that she thought her billboard image really needed more lights.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't very late when Rachel's dads dropped Finn off at the dorm. Puck and several of their friends were in the floor lounge when he walked by with his bag.

"Looking loved up, dude!" Puck yelled, and Finn just grinned, shaking his head. He joined them after putting his stuff away, and sat on the floor, arms around his knees, back against the couch. Puck was with three other members of his study group. The tall one with the shaggy dark hair was John, an engineering major. He didn't talk much, but loved discussing music. He was fairly well-read and a very good essay writer, so the rest looked up to him for help in Freshman Comp. Gina was a slightly plump, very pretty redhead who wanted to be a music teacher, as did the tall slender blonde, Vera. Vera and Finn had the most musical experience, so they pitched in helping Gina in Music Theory. Duncan, a slight, dark, Lit major was another member, and Gina's boyfriend, but didn't seem to be around.

"Where's Dunc?" Finn asked.

"He has a paper due in the morning", Gina replied. Finn helped himself to a slice of pizza in a box on the table.

"So…how's my girl Berry doing?" Puck was finishing up a slice himself. "Is she off the ceiling yet?"

Finn told them about her excitement, and anxiety, and how NYADA was accommodating probably one of the most successful and talented freshmen they ever had. Sure he embellished it a bit, but the others responded positively. Puck, of course, was interested in knowing something else.

"So, are you two actually back together again?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Rachel told Finn once that she was fascinated at how Puck seemed to embody the impish nature of the Shakespearian character without having ever read the play. Finn sighed, but with a contented smile.

"Yeah, we are."

Everyone seemed pleased, Finn thought, though he could tell Vera was a bit ambivalent about it. She was unattached, and had made overtures when they first met in their classes together. He thought he had made it clear to her how he felt about Rachel, and she seemed to accept it with grace. But he supposed she wondered how a long distance thing could possibly work.

"We'll its about time," Puck said, still grinning wickedly, "After your boning session at the wedding." He scoffed at Finn's angry look. "As if you thought nobody knew."

Finn felt his face flushing. He stood up.

"Jesus, dude," he growled, disgusted. He left, saying goodnight.

Back in his room, Finn found himself trembling, but not from rage anymore. He was looking at a picture on his desk. Artie had taken the picture in the fall of the previous year. It was taken from behind. He and Rachel were sitting on a park bench, bundled up, he in his down vest, and Rachel in her red coat that he loved so much and the black cap, her hair in pigtails. They were leaning into each other and holding hands, peacefully surrounded by fall foliage. The pigtails made Rachel look even tinier than she actually was. It had been the only picture Finn could stand having in the room, because it didn't show their faces, yet somehow managed to capture their essence, which is all he had to cling to after the breakup. He trembled now, not because he was angry at what Puck had revealed so crassly, but because he could, finally, bring out the other pictures he had stored in a box in the closet, the ones that had been too painful to view. He was trembling with emotional release.

"That's a nice picture," came a voice from behind him. It was Vera. He jumped, whipping around in surprise, and she took a step back, dismayed.

"My God, I'm sorry—" she sputtered. "I just came to see if you were okay." Her head dropped. "That sounds lame, I know, but it's the truth." There was honest contrition in her blue eyes.

"No, no, it's fine. You just caught me at a weird moment. Stay." He picked up the picture and handed it to her. "Our friend Artie took it when we were in high school."

"It's sweet, very intimate."

"Yeah. I was thinking about bringing out some more that I had stored."

She could see a change in him already. When they first met in Music Theory class, she was immediately attracted to his build and boyish face. His looks almost guaranteed female attention, and, while he was pleasant and open around women, Vera came to sense an underlying sadness, an inner reserve that declared he wasn't interested in a relationship. Unfortunately, she took that as a challenge, and it wasn't until she openly asked him out (to be gently and politely rebuffed) that she learned a little bit about him and Rachel, enough to realize he was forever beyond her reach. So she cut her losses, yet was glad that he had no problems having her in the study group. She liked to think they had become friends; he certainly thought so. However, she was somewhat ashamed finding herself occasionally rooting for distance to take its toll-even in the face of this latest development, which seemed to have eased that inner sadness he carried.

She sat on the edge of his bed as he brought over a small box from the closet. Inside were six framed pictures, each carefully wrapped in tissue paper. He unwrapped them, one by one, for her to see.

There was a picture from Nationals, at the moment Rachel first danced into his arms during "Paradise By The Dashboard Light." Vera marveled at how they seemed to fit perfectly together, and said so. Finn's eyes flashed with pride when he told her how Rachel had talked Carmen Tibideaux into watching New Directions at Nationals as her second audition.

She was standing at her bedroom window at sunset. At first glance, her image seemed to be just in silhouette, but upon closer examination there was actually a lot of detail. Rachel was actually smiling, shyly, at the camera. Finn didn't tell Vera that a few minutes later they had made love, taking advantage of her dads' absence. Vera didn't tell Finn that Rachel's expression gave all of that away beforehand.

And there was Rachel's adorable attempt at a sexy pose in a bikini at the lakefront. And their first dance as Prom King and Queen.

And then this. The photographer had caught her unawares, and she was turning to see who was there, laughing, dark eyes flashing. Happy. Finn sat for several moments, just staring at that one. He gave no comment or explanation.

He didn't take out the last picture. It remained in the bottom of the box, still wrapped in white tissue. He half smiled, and said he'd bring that one out someday, when the time was right. Given the look on his face, Vera didn't ask what that meant.

"Why did you break up, if you don't mind my asking? You never did say." It was this unspoken mystery amongst the study group—even Puck was pretty tight-lipped about that. She figured she could ask, now that they were back together.

"I don't mind," he said, placing the pictures on a shelf, but leaving the bench picture exactly where it was. "When it comes to me, Rachel just will not settle for anything less than the man she knows I can be and want to be. I lost sight of that for awhile, I guess…"

"And you see it now again, here, in Lima?"

"Yeah. I'm getting directing experience at McKinley, and credit as well. That would be hard to come by in New York."

She nodded, and stood up.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay. I'll see you in class."

"Sure. Thanks for checking up on me."

Finn watched her leave. He knew Vera cared for him, and he decided he'd have to make sure not to lead her on. Still, it was nice to have made good friends here. It would make doing what he had to do that much easier. After getting ready for bed, and while Puck was still out of the room, he pulled out his phone.

"Hi, baby," he said.

"Hi." Her voice sounded sleepy and happy.

He told her about taking out the pictures again, and she filled him in on her day since leaving him at the airport, and asked him what classes he had in the morning and did he have his lessons planned for Glee Club, and oh my god she was Fanny Brice, and how happy she was that he was her Finn and that she loved him. He made her laugh by singing "Soft Kitty, Warm Kitty." It felt so good to end their days like this.

When Puck finally came in, he was asleep, the phone still resting on his chest, set to Rachel's picture. Puck gently put the phone on the nightstand and smiled. Finn was his bro, and it was good to see his bro happy again, for the first time in a long time.

Lord knows he deserved it.


	3. Chapter 3

Finn knew who the letter was from the minute he opened his mailbox. The pale pink envelope gave it away. And he recognized Rachel's midwestern-public-school-cursive (in purple ink) before actually reading the return address. It wasn't scented. He smiled when he noticed the postage stamp: it depicted an envelope, fastened with an old-fashioned red wax seal, in the image of a heart; she was meticulous about things like that.

He took it with him to lunch in the dining hall, and, to his relief, managed to read it before his friends showed up.

_**My Darling Finn,**_

_**It's ten o'clock on Friday morning, and I'm sitting in my kitchen, eating breakfast: steel-cut oats with rice milk (doesn't cause phlegm!), blueberries, and black coffee. I'd much rather have your pancakes, to be honest. I can still taste the ones you made the last time you were here. Yum! **_

_**It's true we spoke on the phone last night, but I never feel there is time enough to tell you about my life and how much you mean to it, so I'm writing this letter. Writing it by hand feels so much better than typing an email. Besides, I just realized I have never sent you a handwritten letter before. I did write you one, once, on the night before our wedding (the first one). It's still in its envelope, tucked away inside the box with my dress. I'll give it to you to read one day, I promise. **_

_**You will never know how much I appreciated your coming out for my Broadway debut, especially when it was finals week for you. I had so hoped the show opening would have coincided with your summer vacation, but they upped the date at the last minute. So thank you **____** Lord, I was nervous! But having you there, along with my dads and Kurt and Santana made it so much easier. I hope you don't mind that I wrote to thank the two professors who gave you special dispensation to take the tests when you got back. They needed to know that you were not just being the supportive boyfriend. I've said it before, and I will say it again: you are my muse, you are the root of my passion, and therefore the key to my art. You are my Finn. **_

_**It's funny, sitting here alone, because I live with two other people. During the week, Kurt and Santana are already out the door when I wake up, and often are in bed by the time I get home, so it feels as if I live in this huge loft by myself. We communicate by Post-It. I miss waking up with you. I know, we've talked about this. But you have never known me to be patient, have you? **_

_**It took a while to settle into a routine, once the rehearsals were over, and I actually started performing. As you know, we get Monday off, which is when I do laundry and rest my voice. Kurt and Santana like Mondays because I also cook dinner that night. I love them, Finn, because for the rest of the week they make sure I have something ready to warm up when I get home, usually after midnight. I know you worry about me on the train that late, but a couple of cast members live in Bushwick, and we all take the train home together. And guess what? Do you remember my friend Marge Bailey, the actress who quit ten years ago after her husband died and worked as a waitress at that diner I took you to? Well, she's back on stage! Marge is the female lead in an off-Broadway play at the Westside Theatre, just a block or so away from mine! Both of our shows have matinees on Wednesdays as well as Sundays, and the two of us are similar in that we can't eat dinner beforehand, so we both are just ravenous after doing two performances. So, on those days we sometimes have dinner together at a restaurant that caters to off-Broadway actors called The Monarch. It has late night suppers like Sardi's. Which reminds me. I'm taking you to Sardi's next time you're here, mister. **_

_**Finn, I can't tell you how much I'm loving my life right now. And I will probably never, ever, be able to fully express how much of it I owe to you. Now, stop, Finn Hudson—I can see you shaking your head and trying to deny it. But it's true. Every night I stand up and sing in front of 1500 people (we have sold out every night!), and every time I go to that place within me where my passion lies- you know, where you showed me I could go- and I can feel the audience being pulled into the performance. It's almost as if I have the power to control how they feel and respond. I remember you telling me that night in Chicago, after our Nationals performance, how you felt we had the audience in the palm of our hands, and the chills it gave you. Well, baby, I get that thrill almost every night now. And I get it by keeping you in my heart. I just wish you were here for me to share as we snuggle together. I know that will eventually happen. Until then I'll have to be satisfied with what we have.**_

_**Which also reminds me. I get a week's vacation, right before the holiday season, which means, I'm sorry to say, right before your break. I will come to Lima, baby, and spend what time with you that you can spare, as well as see my dads. Unfortunately, I'll be working the rest of the season—they are adding extra matinees for Christmas week, and we will be performing one show on Christmas Day, because of the demand. I wish I could spend Christmas with you and your family. But at least this year we will be together in spirit, not like the lonely one I spent on that cruise, where all I had of you was your star, which shone in the heavens above me when we were out there. I will be happy this time, because I know that I will never be lonely again.**_

_**Well, Finn, I'm going to close this letter now. I have to shower and get ready before heading into the City for my dance class. Then I'll talk to you tonight, as always! **_

_**I love you. **_

_**Your moose,**_

_**Rachel **_

He read the letter twice, then carefully put it back in the envelope, just in time for the study group, which had remained intact for their sophomore year, to join him at their table.

"You look happy," Gina said.

"I got a letter from Rachel." Everyone rolled their eyes, even Vera.

"You talk to her almost every day, and she writes to you as well?" Duncan sighed and dug into his mac- and-cheese. Gina seemed to change her mind.

"It sounds sweet, now that I think of it…" She batted her eyes at Duncan, who gave her a fond glance back.

Finn shrugged, grinning. "What can I say?" Before the subject changed, he added, "She's coming out to Lima the week before Christmas break for her vacation. So you all will get to meet her."

"She couldn't come out for Christmas?" Vera asked.

"No, she has to work. They have extra matinees during that week, and even one show on Christmas Day."

"That sounds like an insane schedule," John said, shaking his head and whistling. Gina, Duncan and Vera nodded in agreement, but Puck just laughed.

"Not for Berry. She eats that shit up." Finn grinned.

"Yep. In the letter she reminded me about how she and I felt during our performance at Nationals, and how we felt charged up by the audience. It's like we were feeding off of their energy." Puck was nodding too, remembering. "Rachel says she feels like that for every performance."

"What about her voice?" Duncan wanted to know. "How's it holding up under a schedule like that?"

Finn didn't answer. He was biting his lip to keep control, tears were filling his eyes, and he really didn't want anyone to see what was happening because he didn't know himself. All he knew was, one minute he was thinking about Rachel onstage singing, her joy at doing what she loved, when he felt the rush from their Nationals performance, that tapping into a vast source of energy which fueled not only the performance, but their lovemaking that night in the hotel, when they bribed their respective roommates to get lost with vending machine candy. As he thought about that, and the delirious joy they had felt about getting married, his mind slid, inevitably, to the devastation when it all fell apart. It was too much. He excused himself and went outside. Puck found him sitting on a bench.

"You okay, dude?" He handed Finn his backpack.

"Yeah. I'm okay. It just gets…overwhelming sometimes." Puck looked off into the distance.

"I know. There's something about Berry…" His voice trailed off, and Finn smiled. There certainly was.

"I'll see you back at the room after class, dude."

"Will do." He watched Puck leave, and idly scanned the campus. The new school year was only a few weeks old; it still felt like summer, warm and green. A beautiful blonde girl in shorts and halter top passed by his bench, giving him an appreciative onceover. He smiled politely back, with just enough reserve to let her know he wasn't available. Some squirrels ran down the trunk of a nearby oak, chasing each other for acorns. He felt better now. Finn supposed he hadn't completely healed from the breakup, and that it would still hurt to remember. It was reassuring, knowing how much she loved him, even at their lowest point, and that she knew how much he loved her. But the Brody thing still clenched in his chest sometimes, and he knew the train station still haunted her. He hoped both would fade in the glow of what he and Rachel were building now.

And as he stood up to go to class, that memory of being onstage at Nationals stayed with him, when he should have been thinking about that reflection essay he wrote on his teaching experience with New Directions, which was due the next day.

The energy carried him through the rest of the afternoon. He didn't even need his nap.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I want to thank my readers for their patience. I'm trying to set up the main events of the story by first painting as complete a picture as I can of Finn and Rachel's lives and mindsets post-Season 4. As always, feel free to review! **

She had debated flying first class to Dayton, but changed her mind at the last minute. It wasn't the money. Almost all of her salary was banked away, but her dads insisted Rachel maintain a small "slush fund for luxury emergencies", as they put it. What if Barbra Streisand wanted to have dinner with her at some fancy restaurant, or share a cab? What if she needed a dress to attend some high class function? It could happen, she supposed. After all, she had her face on a billboard in Times Square, and now on buses, too. She, Rachel Berry, was Fanny Brice! Somehow, though, she didn't feel entitled to the trappings of fame just yet.

Part of that feeling was a hyper-wariness of sycophants. After her Winter Showcase win, Rachel had experienced the seductive power of praise. It fed into the hopes and dreams of fame she had been building all of her life. But she had seen just how fleeting that could be. After all, didn't Cesare and Bernard, her little fan club of two after her win, abandon her after the Midnight Madness debacle? And didn't they actively root for her failure when they smelled blood in the water over Cassandra July? As if that wasn't enough, after Rachel got the part, she was having lunch with Marge at an outdoor café when the two of them flounced by and tried fawning over her again. No. Just…no. She sent them packing with silence and an icy glare.

"So what's with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?" Marge asked, after they left. Rachel roared with laughter; she hadn't thought of them that way, but it was _so _apt.

It was Marge, however, that also counseled Rachel not to sell herself short, either.

"Rachel, look around you." she said once. "How many eighteen-year-olds are leading Broadway shows on their first try? How many won a national show choir title, were raised by two gay dads, and got into the best performance school in the country after blowing the audition? And, while we're at it, were almost married, twice? " Then Marge smiled, warmly. "You see? You _are_ special, Rachel. You don't need to be told, and you don't have to go out of your way to tell the world, neither- it will know that, soon enough, through your art."

So she booked an economy class seat, giggling at how she didn't have to worry, like poor Finn did, about leg and headroom. It would be a four hour flight, with one stop in Philadelphia.

**XXXxxx**

The flight on the final leg to Dayton wasn't anywhere near full. Rachel was on the aisle, grateful for the empty middle seat. A dark-haired businessman in his late twenties had the window. He was dressed in khakis and a dark-green polo shirt, and nodded to her as she took her seat. He noticed her white NYADA sweatshirt, which she wore with a pair of comfortable faded jeans and flats, and asked politely about it while they waited on the tarmac. She was tired, and actually didn't feel like talking—she was looking forward to just listening to a playlist on her iPod of a cd that Finn had burned for her- but he seemed genuinely interested, and Rachel didn't want to appear rude.

"It's the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts," she said.

"So…you want to be an actress?"

Rachel nodded.

"And a singer."

"Wow. That's a tough business to get into."

He remained polite, but Rachel could tell he didn't think much of her prospects. Not that she blamed him. She must have looked so young, and not a typical beauty.

"Yeah, it is." Then she felt playful, and wished Finn were here. He would have loved this. "Fortunately, I have a good gig already in New York."

"Oh really? Cool. Which one?"

"I'm playing Fanny Brice in _Funny Girl_ at the Shubert."

She could feel his bullshit meter going off the chart.

"You've got the lead in a major Broadway production?" He couldn't help but let his skepticism show.

"That's right."

He obviously didn't believe her—she almost expected him to openly call her on it. Instead he looked out the window with a barely-concealed smirk.

Well. Time to re-calibrate his faulty bullshit meter. She pulled her bag out from under the seat, rummaged for a second, then dropped a playbill from her show on his lap. Her picture was on the cover.

He was gracious about being proven wrong.

"Wow, congratulations!"

Rachel smiled, then laughed when he asked why she was flying in the economy section.

**XXXxxxx**

She settled back in her seat, eyes closed, earbuds in place, as the plane climbed to its cruising altitude. Her ears popped, and she luxuriated in the reality of not having to do anything for a few hours.

Finn's playlist was an eclectic assortment of stuff he said the college radio station was playing. It was slightly different than the fare Rachel listened to from NYU's station (NYADA didn't have one). She loved listening to the WNYU afternoon show, which featured indie, electronic, and experimental music, a nice contrast to the relentless barrage of show tunes one heard in class at NYADA. The University of Lima broadcasts offered refreshing doses of classic and progressive rock, with a smattering of blues. Finn told her he was getting addicted to a late night two-hour show for Deadheads on Fridays. He said he was able to get a lot of work done listening to the Grateful Dead's warm, rootsy music, which made Rachel smile. So much for the party animal.

She was beginning to think they had a handle on this long-distance thing. The soul-crushing loneliness when they had been apart had faded away. And both Finn and Rachel knew they could call the other if that unique ache in the chest returned and began to take hold. There was an end to their separation in sight, and they tried as hard as they could to take it day-by-day.

Rachel did know, however, that there were still things that needed time to heal. For her, it was trust. She hated that she still, sometimes, expected Finn to change everything suddenly on her. Sometimes, during their phone conversations, she told him how hard it was for her to fully accept that they were together again, that she worried about the rug being pulled out from under her. And she knew that it hurt him to hear that, but it warmed her heart to know just how resolute he was about making things right.

She was just as determined to help Finn get past his feelings about Brody. Rachel knew how much she appreciated his help ending that relationship. But there was still fallout from it when it came to their sex life. Sex with Finn had been a wonderful, sometimes awkward and clumsy, sometimes hilarious, but always tender, fumbling towards joy. Almost all they knew about sex came from each other. Brody had complicated the equation dramatically, for reasons which were now all too painfully clear. For Rachel, sex with Brody had been a revelation, at least from a technical standpoint; the exquisite pleasure he had been able to inject into her ultimate loneliness had helped her in her darkest moments. And, when she was honest with herself, so had the things he had taught her to please him as well. However, as much as she wanted to try and please Finn that way, and also to be pleasured that way again (only this time by someone she truly loved), Rachel was afraid he would see it as Brody intruding on them. So she hadn't tried anything like that with him yet. Maybe this was the time, she thought. It _had _been a long time…

She smiled to herself, contemplating wicked ways to bring Finn on board as the plane leveled out.

**XXXxxx**

When the plane touched down in Dayton at lunchtime, her dads were waiting. Finn, of course, had wanted to pick her up, but Rachel insisted he spend that time with classes and preparing for exams.

"It won't be long, baby," she had murmured on the phone the night before, "Besides, I can spend some time catching up with my dads. Get the work out of the way so we can enjoy each other, okay?"

She sent Finn a text, saying she would come by later in the afternoon, after his classes. She enjoyed the time with her family. Her dads were excited to hear more of her new life, and she wanted to tell them everything. Hiram and Leroy Berry had devoted themselves to her, and it made her heart glad to regale them with tales of Broadway. Interestingly, she hadn't met many celebrities yet. She confessed being so terrified at first that, by the end of the day during rehearsals she had no energy left to meet anyone or schmooze. Instead, she just headed home.

Her cast mates were Broadway professionals, mostly. Nicky Arnstein was played by a 13-year veteran, Art Fonseca. Darkly handsome and wickedly funny, he went out of his way to make Rachel feel welcome, taking her under his wing, making sure she felt safe when they performed together. During rehearsals, he and Rachel worked out subtle cues and hints between them so their appearances together on stage seemed seamless. He was a great source of practical, day-to-day acting advice that NYADA hadn't covered (at least, not yet). His wife was a makeup artist for another show, and she spent an afternoon giving Rachel tips.

Rachel's understudy had been on Broadway for ten years, a Tisch-trained actress named Talia Gillerman. She could have passed for Rachel's five-foot-eight older sister, which made for some good-natured jokes among the rest of the cast. One of Rachel's fears had been of being resented by the other, more experienced actors, but, as she told her dads during lunch in Dayton, there was none of that. She brought it up with Talia one day when rehearsals were in full swing. They had forged a wonderfully close working relationship. The idea was to get their interpretations of Fanny as close as possible, so that a returning theatergoer wouldn't be jarred if he happened to see Talia performing instead of Rachel. At one point they had reached a disagreement on a certain scene, and Rachel, feeling somewhat intimidated, didn't press her case. Talia knew she was holding back; Rachel wasn't the best at hiding her feelings when it came to the art.

"Why aren't you speaking up? She asked Rachel point-blank. "I can tell you hate what I just suggested." Talia didn't seem angry or hurt, so Rachel accommodated her.

"I don't know, it's just that sometimes I feel like I have less of a right to state my opinions because I haven't paid my dues like everybody else."

"Girl, you crack me up." Talia was laughing, but not in a mean way. "Listen, Rachel. We all bring something to the table here, and not all of it comes from experience. Surely you've seen the admiration and respect from everyone else when you're up there singing. You've read the good reviews. Your instrument is what's paying our salaries these days. Not mine. Not Art's. None of our voices are in the same league. That's why you're the lead and not me. That's why you have the lead and not Sutton Foster or Mamie Gummer." Rachel laughed at how Talia wrinkled her nose at Gummer's name. "The producers knew what they were doing when they held an open call for auditions. They wanted to see what hidden gems were out there, what ballsy, hungry talent lay undiscovered." At that point Talia pulled Rachel close for a hug. "Like you. But, funnily enough, you weren't completely unknown."

"What do you mean?"

"Art said he overheard some NYADA faculty members at a bar one night, before the auditions were even held, gushing over this pint-sized freshman named Rachel Berry with a killer voice who took the Winter Showcase by storm. And, to be honest, when we found out that Fanny was going to be you, we expected someone that young and inexperienced to show up sporting a severe dose of attitude."

Rachel blushed.

"Of course, when the crew leaked your list of dressing room demands, we all laughed our asses off: 'A Caesar Salad, 2 bottles of water and a tea set with honey? ' Seriously? "

"What was I supposed to ask for," Rachel retorted, "Fresh puppies instead of towels?"

"Oh could you? That would be hilarious!" Talia grew serious. "Rachel, everyone likes you. You're cool, willing to learn, and have a voice that pays our bills. So…speak up. What about that scene? "

Everyone liked her. Sitting with her dads at the restaurant, Rachel pondered the irony of that. Memories of telling herself that someday she would be appreciated for her work and talent, instead of being hated and ridiculed, brought tears behind her smile.

**XXXxxx**

Rachel sat in the dorm lounge, waiting for Finn to get back. The weather report had forecast sloppy snow for that afternoon, so she decided to get ahead of it and drive over early. She hoped she wasn't overdressed; just a royal blue shirt, skinny jeans and ankle boots. Was that girl actually in pajama bottoms, UGGS boots and a down jacket? She didn't want to meet his friends and have them think she was a snob.

She pulled a magazine from her bag. The latest issue of _American Theatre _had an article on her show's producers, Billie West and Jerry Fineman. Rachel knew they had a reputation for taking risks and making them pay off. The article confirmed what Marge had told her, that West and Fineman got their start in experimental theatre, and were known to throw out the rules (holding a cattle call for the leads and casting an absolute unknown for a major Broadway production was only one _recent_ example). It mentioned their successful revival of _Funny Girl,_ but not any of the cast by name. That was fine with her. It was a relief to ease into stardom; she was, at this moment, fine with her billboard and bus ads, and the thrill of signing autographs outside the theatre after a show.

"Excuse me—you must be Rachel Berry, right?"

She looked up to see two girls standing in front of her, a redhead, who had asked her the question, and a taller blonde.

"Yes, that's me," she said, smiling. "Are you some of Finn's friends?"

"Yeah! I'm Gina." She extended her hand and Rachel shook it. "And this is Vera." Vera also extended her hand, but Rachel sensed more of a coolness to her demeanor than the bubbly Gina's.

"Hi Rachel, it's good to finally meet you," she said.

"We're studying to be music teachers like Finn is," Gina said, and Rachel nodded.

"Yes, he talks about you all of the time. It's nice to put faces to the names."

The girls dropped their book bags on the floor and plopped onto the couch perpendicular to Rachel's stuffed chair. They looked worn out.

"Long day?" Rachel asked. They both nodded.

"All of us gave presentations," Vera said, "Finn included. He said if we saw you to keep you company for awhile—he had to drop off some paperwork at the Education Department office before heading back."

"Oh, you don't have to stick around for me," Rachel piped up quickly, waving her magazine, "I can keep myself occupied." But both girls shook their heads.

"We're done for the day," said Gina, then grinned. "Besides, we have a bonafide Broadway star sitting across from us!"

"Jesus, Gina," Vera interjected, "Rachel's on vacation for crissakes! Does she really need a couple of fangirls bothering her?"

Rachel giggled.

"Hey, as long as I don't have to sing for a few days, and can eat what I want, I'm good!"

"Will you eat dinner with us, then?" Vera asked. "We were thinking about ordering Chinese, since it's Friday."

"Oh, Chinese sounds heavenly," Rachel said. "But it's only three o'clock. Is there a coffee machine? I was up way early this morning for my flight."

"And you had a show last night as well, right," Gina said. Rachel nodded. "I have an espresso machine in my room. Can I make you a latte or something? It has a milk steamer." Then she stopped, embarrassed. "But I only have skim milk, and you're a vegan, right?"

Rachel waved her hand. "I'm on vacation, don't worry about it. A latte would be heaven! Besides," she added, winking, "during the week I can only use rice milk, because it doesn't cause phlegm. I get so starved for something that actually tastes good, on my day off I even—"she feigned shock horror, "—use whole milk!"

"A latte it is then," Gina said, and left. Vera seemed warmer now.

"Finn says you're doing eight shows a week now." At Rachel's nod, Vera whistled. "How do you keep your voice from breaking down, Rachel?"

"Mostly through the use of proper technique, primarily breathing." Rachel noticed Vera leaning forwards, fascinated now. "The idea is to support all of the breathing with the diaphragm. It's also important to nail down the timing of the breaths so you aren't caught by surprise and have to suddenly switch to the muscles in the throat, which can put strain on the vocal chords. And warm-ups are essential, before every show. I've been really lucky—my understudy Talia is a thorough professional, and the two of us warm up together every night, and we planned the numbers carefully when the rehearsals were going on. I'd be a mess without her."

Vera smiled.

"Funny, I always imagined understudies as scheming, jealous, resentful psychos."

"No, not at all." Rachel giggled. "Talia works hard to make sure she can step in at any time. And she's paid well to be prepared, even though she has only had to perform for me once before my vacation. It was a matinee, when they thought I was coming down with a cold."

"But you went on that night?"

"Yep. A nap that afternoon did wonders!"

There was a pause. Vera seemed thoughtful.

"Finn is so proud of you," she said.

At that moment Gina returned with a mug. Rachel took a grateful sip and rolled her eyes.

"Mmmmm, oh, that is good. Thank you."

Gina and Vera were in the middle of telling Rachel how they came to know Finn when he appeared in the doorway, looking beat.

"I felt my ears burning," he grinned. Then he gave Rachel a smoldering look.

"Hi, beautiful."

Gina and Vera might as well have been ghosts. Maybe it was the kick from the caffeine, but Rachel felt light and sure, for the first time in a long time. It was like senior year again, when she didn't feel reluctant to show her affection for Finn in the halls and choir room. She stood up, lip trembling, and silently shot into his arms, hugging him tightly and kissing him feverishly. He returned the favor equally, and she rejoiced as the world around them disappeared. And when she pulled away, her heart finally slowing down, eyes focusing again, she rested her head on his chest and looked at the two girls snickering on the couch with half-lidded eyes.

"Don't order the Chinese without us," she ordered, grabbing her coat, bag, and Finn's collar. "C'mon Hudson! "

Finn winked helplessly at Gina and Vera, and, with a wolfish grin, pulled Rachel out of the lounge.

**XXXxxx**

Rachel lay, listening to his labored breathing, and wanted to hold her own breath. She cursed the fact she had lost control, and had gently guided Finn into a few variations that made her scream in pleasure, knowing full well he recognized that it was something she had learned from _him_. Not only that, she had thrown caution to the wind and tried something that almost made him black out.

Why did she do that? Why did she risk it? She knew how sensitive he was about Brody, but it just felt so right and good… But now he just lay on his side, head propped up, looking at her. He must be horrified, she thought desperately, so horrified he cannot speak. To her dismay, she realized that she had pulled away slightly from him, when all she really wanted was to entwine. In her mind she could feel it all unraveling.

"Finn…?" She couldn't stand the silence, and her voice quavered. But then she felt his large hands reaching out, pulling her towards him.

"I hate him," he said, finally. "I hate him because he hurt you, and I hate him because he came between us."

She nodded silently, tears coming, nose sniffling.

"But I can't hate him for wanting to please you. He even told me that he loved you." He kissed her forehead. "I can't hate him for that, either."

She lay in his arms, loved and content. This was a different Finn, she thought. A man. The rug remained in place beneath her. She kissed him.

"I love you," she said, as she lazily watched snow falling outside, in the gathering dark. "And I'm hungry."


	5. Chapter 5

They emerged from his room an hour later, drunk on each other and famished. Rachel had brought a change of clothes-her NYADA sweatshirt and jeans—and clung to his arm as they made their way back to the lounge.

"Hey guys," Finn said, as if nothing had happened. Rachel just grinned. Gina and Vera had been joined by Puck, John and Duncan. They ordered Chinese and Finn's friends filled Rachel in on how they all met, with Puck continually slipping in sly references to Finn and Rachel's amorous activities.

"Oh Noah," Rachel said, "How I missed you." And she kissed his cheek. It was so good to see him again. She liked his friends, and how they supported each other. And she liked how they accepted her, once the novelty of her being a Broadway star wore off. She deliberately kept her presence low key, wanting more to learn about Finn's world than talking about her own. Seeing Finn so settled and focused now warmed her heart. It made being separated somewhat easier.

She watched their interactions. There were two axes, based on shared classes: one axis was Duncan and Puck, who had English classes together (both wanted to be writers), while Finn, Gina and Vera were the musical axis. John, being an engineering student, floated. John was good looking and friendly, with a girlfriend named Geraldine.

"She's a biology major," John told Rachel, and laughed. "She says I need her because far too many Intelligent Design advocates are engineers, and need someone who actually understands biology to set them straight." She was having dinner with her parents in Dayton that night.

Of all of Finn's friends, Vera seemed to talk the least. She seemed content to sit back and listen, though she did contribute some funny jokes. Finn had told Rachel that Vera was a very good pianist. He had also mentioned her interest in him the year before, but Rachel didn't see any evidence of that now. She wasn't involved in a relationship, as far as anyone knew, but dated now and then, more this year than last. Rumor had it she was slowly nursing a broken heart from high school. If so, Finn said, she didn't talk about it. Rachel liked Vera, and during dinner managed to get her to open up about music. She admitted to having a soft spot for Sondheim, which raised her up in Rachel's estimation.

The snow never got heavy that evening. Finn was watching it fall, then suddenly whispered to Rachel that his parents were out of town that weekend. She didn't need any encouragement, after dinner, to make her goodbyes and follow his truck with her car back to Finn's house.

Two days alone with him. Just what the doctor ordered.

**XXXxxx **

Her heart beat faster when it became clear what he was doing. Finn had left her sitting on the couch and disappeared into the hall. The house was silent except for the calm ticking of the antique Grandfather clock in the living room. She felt warm inside from a glass of red wine, safe, loved. And when he emerged with pillows, a blanket and a comforter, a catch developed in her throat.

He set a fire going, and they undressed, then cuddled under the comforter. She lay, head on his chest, right arm draped across his body, hand caressing his head, his right hipbone between her legs, and sighed. Her mind was on what he said earlier.

"Finn, can I say something?" She asked him slowly, in a soft murmur.

"Of course."

"I'm sorry about Brody."

"Rach, no, you don't have to—" She cut him off with her finger on his lips.

"Shhh, Finn, listen," she kissed his chest, and a hot tear rolled down her cheek. She could see it, pooling, glistening on his skin by the firelight. "I'm sorry because what I did hurt you, and at the time, part of me wanted to hurt you." She looked up, directly into his face. "I'm sorry I _wanted_ to hurt you."

She felt him nod, slightly. His eyes shone in the firelight.

"I've hurt you, too."

"But you didn't do it out of…" She knew what she wanted to say, but it was difficult to verbalize because she was ashamed. "…spite."

Finn's right hand, which was cupping her buttocks, pushed her up so her face was close to his, and he kissed her.

"I abandoned you. And didn't sing with you. At least Brody did that."

She gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Actually, after that night, he never did. And at Thanksgiving, he didn't even want people breaking out into song."

"And this guy's a Musical Theatre major at NYADA?"

Rachel kissed Finn this time.

"I know, right? I was an idiot."

"You must have been distracted by his abs."

She gave a throaty chuckle.

"Yeah, that was it. But baby?" She wrapped her arms around him and clung like her life depended on it. "Even with abs like that, he didn't make me feel safe, like you do. He couldn't envelop me in his arms, like you can. He wasn't big enough." She giggled naughtily. "Speaking of which…he's not hung like you, baby. Not even close. He could never fill me like you do."

She paused, enjoying the warmth and the symbolism of the living room and the hearth. And she felt safe, knowing they could now, after so long, make little jokes about that painful part of their past. And she felt confident and powerful again, like she did with him when they were so in love before.

"You can fill me if you want to," she said, and rejoiced at how quickly he flipped her over to show just how much he wanted to.

**XXXxxx **

His arms enveloped her from behind, as she cooked pancakes. Finn was aroused again; the fact she could feel him pressed against the small of her back through Finn's McKinley Football t-shirt (she loved having his height back) made her shiver.

"I wanted to make pancakes for you," he protested, "You're on vacation."

"I may be on vacation, but you're not," she replied, "So get dressed and eat. You have work to do." But before Finn could turn away, Rachel reached down and held him, cupped in the palm of her hand. "And if you get the work done…" She squeezed, gently, and he gasped, eyes closed.

He looked good, she thought, as his naked form disappeared down the hall. His body wasn't compact and sculpted, but rangy and lean, like a mountain man's. She winced seeing the angry red scars from the entry and exit wounds on his left thigh. He didn't like to admit it, but the bullet had inflicted some lasting muscle damage: his gait had a slight, but still perceptible limp, a favoring of the right leg. Fortunately, it didn't interfere with his running to stay in shape.

He returned in a t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, and had a cup of coffee as Rachel finished the pancakes. His eyebrows raised at the number of pancakes on her plate.

"I love a girl with an appetite," he commented, grinning, and Rachel playfully forked up a mouthful.

"Damn straight," she mumbled.

Finn was taking eighteen credits both semesters this year. Rachel wasn't worried, though. He had taken to college better than anyone expected, except, of course, for Rachel. "I always knew you were going to make a great college student," she told him once on the phone. His favorite classes were Music Theory III, and Keyboard Harmony III ("I'm getting pretty good on piano", he told her). As if to prove it, he took a study break and played Rachel's song "Get it Right" for her, from an arrangement he did of it for a class the previous year. ("I told you that you were my moose," he said, proudly noting that he gave her full credit). How could she not love this man? She had him play it again, and sang along, Finn singing harmony, and ended up making love to him before lunch, because he had been right back on the McKinley stage before the wedding, about how dangerous their musical chemistry truly was. He also filled her in on his work with New Directions, and how he was now feeling like a pro at directing musical numbers.

It was intoxicating to be alone with Finn, making love and music, eating when they could squeeze in the time, and watching him work on things that he loved. She felt as if it was the honeymoon they never had. She felt safe, loved, and special. On Sunday night she and Finn and her dads went to dinner at Breadstix, because her flight out was Monday morning, and they ran into Will and Emma Schuester, who wanted to know about her life in New York.

Rachel and Finn spent the last night of her vacation in his comfortable bed at the house. He made her pancakes before the sun came up, and insisted on driving her to Dayton, but only after proving to her that he was actually ahead of his work for Monday, and could miss the morning classes because Gina and Vera promised to take notes for him.

She felt his love and adoration down the entire jetway, and in her mind as she listened to another of his playlists, high above the corn-stubble of the winter fields. And she felt the pull of Fanny Brice as the plane floated past Manhattan, on its descent.

_**Hey Mr. Arnstein, here I am**_.

**A/N: lyric is from "Don't Rain On My Parade", by ****Bob Merril and Jule Styne**


	6. Chapter 6

Her muscles ached from the first dance workout after her vacation, a sign to Joanne, her dance adjunct, that the session had some value. Rachel agreed. They had been working on some moves (four) that Cassie had told her were a weak point. Rachel was halfway down the list, with Joanne declaring she had mastered the first two.

"It's about time," Rachel said, as they got changed afterwards.

" You're doing fine," Joanne said. She was a lithe brunette in her late twenties, and came highly recommended to Carmen from a friend at Juilliard. She enjoyed floating teaching gigs with reduced hours, which enabled her to spend time with her mother, who was in a hospice for Alzheimer's patients. She and Rachel worked around each other's schedules . She was thorough and pleasant. Even Cassandra admitted she was very good.

Rachel was headed out to have a light lunch with Marge when she halted, rolling her eyes. Cesare and Bernard were mincing down the hallway towards her. What did they want?

"Well, Bernard, " Cesare said, "Doesn't Rachel look chipper, given the news?"

I'm too tired for this, she thought, but asked anyway.

"What news?"

"Yes, Cesare, she looks awfully chipper considering her ex was arrested for _prostitution_ over the weekend."

What the hell?

"Brody was arrested? For prostitution? Are you two on drugs?" She had never let anyone outside of Finn, Kurt and Santana know that she knew about that. And she wasn't going to start now, especially with this pair of idiots.

The two of them tittered, as if chalking up some points on an imaginary scoreboard.

"He was picked up in a sweep by the Vice Squad at the Hotel Clarke," Cesare said with relish.

"So how do you know about it?" Rachel asked, furious and sick at the same time. "Were you both picked up as well?"

"I would have _thought," _Bernard spat, sounding for all the world like a pastel Bette Davis, "that you would have appreciated being informed that your ex-lover is a _manwhore_. "

"I would have appreciated it, had the news come from anyone but you two."

They sniffed in unison.

"Is Brody in jail?"

"No, he's out. His disciplinary hearing is in two days. But we all know that expulsion is in order," Cesare sneered.

Rachel was just going to storm off, but seeing their smug faces was too much. She moved in front of Bernard, staring up into his face. Her fierce expression made him recoil.

"I'm going to tell you—" she threw Cesare a withering look as well, '—both of you- something right now. Showing so much glee over the misfortunes of another person who never did you any harm is despicable. And I'm not going to stand by and ignore it, even if he is my ex-boyfriend. I may not have been around much yet, but I'm establishing a good reputation outside, in the real world." She poked Bernard in the chest. "You know: Broadway. The world you would sell your mothers to join, if you ever graduate. And I'm putting you both on notice: if I ever find out either of you miscreants audition for a show I'm in, even if it's auditioning to clean the dressing room toilets, the door will slam on you so fast it will make your head spin. Got it? "

Then she stormed off without waiting for an answer. She smiled grimly. It was debatable, of course, whether she had that kind of clout or not. But they didn't know that.

**XXXxxxx**

She found him alone, in an empty rehearsal room, the same one, ironically, in which she had confronted him about his prostitution. He was sitting sideways on a window bench, staring outside. He turned as she stood in the doorway.

"Hey," she said.

"If you're here to get your licks in, take a number," he sighed, wearily, and returned to looking out the window.

"You know I'd never do that." That brought his head around, and he wore a hint of a sad smile.

"No, you wouldn't. So why are you here?"

Rachel entered the room and sat next to him on the bench.

"Were you fined, or are you going to do jail time? What?"

"I pled guilty and got fined," he said. "But I'm probably going to be expelled. My hearing's on Friday." He looked defeated; there was none of the cocky assuredness he used to display. It was probably the most vulnerable Rachel had ever seen him.

"Do your parents know?" He shook his head.

"So, what are you going to do?" She touched his arm in sympathy. This was awful. Of all her angry fantasies when she found out about Brody's secret life, his getting kicked out of NYADA wasn't one of them. And he was only one semester from graduation. "Are you going to appeal? I could talk to Carmen."

"You'd do that for me?" He looked at her strangely.

"I can remind her that you got a golden envelope from her, too. If NYADA's all about the art, as they keep telling us, then surely that means something, right?"

Brody gave her a knowing look. With Rachel, it was all about the art.

"No, but thank you. I don't want you dragged into this."

"Cesare and Bernard have already dragged me into it," Rachel replied. "I think they're reminding the whole school we were together." Brody winced at that.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. I just think the best thing is for me is to get out and hit the streets for auditions. Get a legit job and scrape up the money for the Actor's Equity initiation fee. It'll be what I was planning to do anyway, just without a NYADA degree."

"Remember when we first met?" Rachel asked. Brody smiled and nodded. "You built up my confidence by telling me I was the best of the best for getting into NYADA."

"That turned out to be an understatement," he said, and she knew he was being absolutely sincere now, because he had no expectation of any gain in saying so.

Rachel patted his arm.

"Don't forget you are the best of the best, too. And they can't take the three-and-a-half years of training you got here away from you."

"You're the only person who has given me any encouragement or sympathy," Brody said, wonderingly.

She leaned forward and hugged him.

"I liked you, but, regardless of what you did to hurt me, I used you, and I regret that. We're both artists, and that's worth a lot in my book. Let me help: I have a little money now, so let me sponsor your Actor's Equity initiation fee. That'll go a long way to help getting you work."

"Wow." He looked stunned. "I'll pay you back, I promise."

"You can pay me back by making it out there," Rachel said, with a wave of her hand. "Pay me back with front row tickets to your shows. I want to tell an interviewer someday that I knew you before you became famous." She stood up to go. There were tears in his eyes, the first she had ever seen. "It's all about the art, right?"

"Yeah, it is," he replied.

She kissed his cheek and left him pretty much as he was when she came in, staring out the window. But he had a hopeful smile now.

**XXXxxx**

She was glad the holiday season was over. Her performance schedule had been crazy, but at least she had the loft to herself for a few days, so she didn't have to worry about making noise as she tried to unwind after a show. And Kurt, bless his heart, brought Finn back with him for a couple of days before New Years, sticking a red bow on Finn's forehead before she opened the door. Finn made her breakfast in bed after a particularly brutal matinee day, and she relished the extra energy she had in the morning after sleeping with him.

Now it was back to work as usual, with her classes and shows in some semblance of a schedule. One Monday night Kurt, Santana and Rachel visited Artie, and decided they would meet regularly like that as well. Her life had reached a calm peace, a balance between career and personal life that she had not experienced before. The show was still doing well, and rumor had it that it would be up for some Tony nominations this year. _Funny Girl_ still had to deal with the hugely popular _Twilight: the Musical_, though. That would be tough. 

Rachel had to admit she was relieved that the Funny Girl opening had been right around the Tony nominations, the previous year, so it wasn't eligible. Art told her this gave her a chance to become more of a seasoned performer. She agreed.

"I think you might get a nomination, Rachel," he told her one night after a show, "now that the show has worked out the early kinks and you're settled into the part."

She knew what he meant about the kinks. There had been some friction between Art and Rachel with Erik Strong, the director, about how to portray Fanny and Nicky's relationship. Strong wanted to emphasize the dysfunction, but Art and Rachel argued for emphasis on the deep love between them instead. They tried it Strong's way at first, but it was soon apparent that the audience wasn't responding quite the way they wanted. The reviews had been just okay, not strong. So the producers stepped in, ordering Strong to try it the actors' way, and there was an immediate surge in interest, both from the press and in ticket sales.

"Oh Finn, I wish you had seen the show now that our interpretation is being done," she had told him on the phone. "And I'm so glad Erik didn't quit over it—he's a genius!" Finn saw the show again and agreed that it was better done her way. She felt his pride in her every time they spoke. Her validation as an artist was another contribution to the peace she felt after Christmas.

One day in March, NYADA called to tell her Joanne, her dance instructor, had been hospitalized with appendicitis, and that they were sending a substitute for two weeks. "Don't worry Rachel," Mary, the NYADA CSC coordinator told her, "She comes highly recommended. She does a lot of regular adjunct work for Juilliard, like Joanne." Her name was Emily Lauder.

Rachel first saw her sitting cross–legged, on a mat in their rehearsal room, engrossed in a book. She looked surprisingly young, maybe a few years younger than Joanne, with long, blonde hair, pulled back in a severe ponytail, and a killer dancer's body: lean, lissome, in a striking, pastel, tie-dyed leotard.

She looked up, saw Rachel standing there, and leaped to her feet in one graceful, powerful motion, still holding the book.

"Hi! You must be Rachel Berry!" She exclaimed brightly. Rachel could see her face now, pale skin, delicate bone structure, and deep blue eyes that held a faint twinkle. "I'm Emily Lauder." She extended her bookless hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Emily," Rachel said.

"Well, it's an honor to meet you!" Emily put the book into her bag. To Rachel's inquiring look, she replied, "_Journey to the East_. Herman Hesse."

"I've never read any Hesse," Rachel admitted. Emily laughed.

"Me neither. I was looking for some new stuff to read, and my boyfriend Tom, who's kind of a _genius_ , suggested it. Said I needed to get out of my Paul Bowles rut."

Rachel just smiled. She hadn't heard of Bowles.

"I'm sorry Joanne got ill—she's pretty cool. I fill in for her a lot. And NYADA gigs are great. $125 an hour." She pulled out an iPad from her bag, and cued up a video. "The office emailed me Joanne's notes, and she wants you to work on this move." She played the video, which looked professionally made, of Emily dancing the move. "I'm a choreographer, and teach it as an adjunct at Juilliard. That's where I met Joanne."

She played the video back a few times, letting Rachel visualize the move and ask questions. Then they started stretching and talking. Emily was from Connecticut, and had a degree in dance from the Aaron Copeland School of Music at Queens College. A year ago she had choreographed a London West End production of the ballet _The Firebird. _Rachel was impressed, but puzzled.

"Are you choreographing now, or just teaching?" she asked.

"Mostly teaching," she said. "Both of us are working and saving money for when Tom figures out what his musical's going to be about and he can go into 'cmpose mode', and I can take his musical ideas and translate them into choreographic terms."

"So you're musical partners?" Rachel marveled. "That sounds wonderful!"

"Yeah, it is. Tom went to NYADA, you know."

His name was Tom Foley, and had been in the composer program at NYADA, but left to compose on his own.

"He said he had a long talk with the Dean, Carmen What's-her-name, and likes to say they both agreed that a parting of the ways would benefit him and NYADA." Emily giggled. "You know Carmen, right?"

Rachel nodded, but couldn't help asking,"Did they part on bad terms?"

"Oh no," Emily shook her head. "He made the case to Carmen that NYADA couldn't help him anymore. He was shocked when she actually admitted he was right. I told you he was some kind of genius."

The workout was excellent. Rachel liked Emily's dancing style. It was graceful, like Joanne's, but there was an edginess, an intensity to it. Like Cassandra's, actually. Her teaching style was different than Joanne's. Joanne was more verbal. She had a knack for describing what she wanted Rachel to do, whereas Emily was more comfortable demonstrating the move physically. She was able to slow herself down without looking awkward, so Rachel could better observe the components of the move. She looked forward to the next session, and invited Emily to lunch (she was always hungry after a dance workout).

"You said Tom was thinking about a musical", Rachel said over salads with extra hardboiled egg (Emily's recommendation), "Does he have some ideas yet?" The thought of a completely new and original musical coming out of someone's head fascinated her.

Emily nodded. "Sort of,' she said. "Tom tried to write a musical on his own after leaving NYADA. His family in California have money, and agreed to help him while he worked on it." She suddenly wore a pained expression. "It was a disaster, and never got off the ground. His family's money ran out, and he had to start hustling jobs here and there: piano player in a bar, lessons, waiting tables. You know—the starving artist thing. He also started going to as many shows as he could afford , and realized his first effort was simply an imitation of some of the mediocre stuff he was seeing. He actually began to doubt he could even do this."

"I know how that feels," Rachel said, remembering her NYADA audition.

"But then something happened to change all that."

"What?"

"He met me."

Emily started chewing a mouthful of salad, wearing an impish grin. Rachel waited, patiently, for her to continue. She was really beginning to like this girl.

"He was playing in this bar one night, and I was there with some girlfriends. I liked his choice of songs, and he had a fairly decent voice, so I went over to see if he took requests." Emily had a dreamy expression. "He looked good, Rachel, I have to admit: small and compact, with this gorgeous mop of curly, sandy hair, cute round-rim glasses, and intense blue eyes. I swear he looked like a young Warren Zevon."

"What song did you ask him to play?"

"I played a hunch," Emily said, with a naughty look, "and asked him if he had any of his own stuff he could play."

Rachel had to high-five her for that.

"He gave me this long, searching look, which I also noticed included my legs, then said, 'Yeah, I do.' And then he started playing this beautiful song. It was a slow, mournful waltz, about a young Vietnam draftee leaving his sweetheart behind on a train platform. She runs alongside the train, trying to keep his face in view, until she runs out of platform . He watches her there, on her knees, heartbroken, as the train pulls out of sight. And he ends it this way: "

_**In my dreams she catches up with me**_

_**And the MP's won't know**_

_**That we stole away, together**_

_**Where the deserters go.**_

"That's gorgeous," Rachel said, tears in her eyes, not letting Emily know the actual impact that the coincidence had on her.

"Tom says he got the idea from his dad, who said he saw a young girl do that to a buddy of his as they shipped out to Vietnam. We've been together ever since."

Emily ate some more salad, then said, "We have composed material together, random songs here and there so far. He says I help him give rhythm to his music, because I see it through sound and motion, whereas he sees it through sound and imagery."

"So you complement each other, " Rachel noted, nodding.

"Yep. He's been talking about some vague ideas for another musical, just musical snippets for songs, but no story or lyrics. The important thing is, I won't put up with him thinking he can't do it, because I know he can."

It was eerie, listening to her describe this relationship, and the parallels to her life with Finn. It made her feel something was happening in her life again, something big, and that Emily and Tom might just play a part in it.

But after being chosen as Fanny Brice, she had difficulty wondering just what that might be.

**A/N: the lyrics are Tom Foley's own. Reviews are always welcome!**


	7. Chapter 7

On her last session with Emily, Rachel arrived to find her before the mirror, launching into a classic _arabesque_: right leg _en pointe_, left leg raised and pointed forty-five degrees, torso curved upwards, left arm held parallel to the ground, and the right raised gracefully heavenward, her eyes following where it led. She resembled an unfolding flower. From there she flowed into an _arabesque penchee. _Her left leg raised slowly until it pointed, incredibly, straight upwards, body lowered until slightly below parallel to the ground for balance, left arm up and behind, her eyes following the right arm pointed away and down, all kept together and controlled by the immensely strong muscles of the toes in her right foot. It was a stunning demonstration of strength, grace, and balance.

Rachel applauded from the doorway, and Emily came out of the stance into pirouettes across the floor until she stopped in front of the opening.

"Ballet _rocks_," she said, grinning. "I did that naked for Tom once; he nearly passed out."

Rachel took Emily to lunch after the class, and gave her front row tickets for her and Tom for that night's performance.

"I want to thank you," she said, "You really got me to make some progress, though I think dance will always be my weakest point."

"You're welcome! This is exciting! We've wanted to see your show for some time. Say! Why don't we go out after the show, if you're not tired? We can hang out at this bar in Ridgewood, where we live; Tom plays piano there. It's not far from Bushwick."

That sounded like fun. Rachel texted Kurt and Santana, to say she wouldn't be home at the usual time, and to not leave her dinner. Then she let Finn know where she'd be, and that she would leave him a voicemail when she went to bed. Emily looked at her curiously.

"We talk every night before bed," Rachel explained, "But if we are going to be out later than usual, we leave voicemails so the other isn't kept up." She smiled. "It's our way of tending the garden, as Finn puts it."

"Very cool," Emily said.

They lingered over lunch, and Rachel told Emily a bit more about Finn and school.

"So," Emily said, "Finn can read music, sing, play drums and piano, and direct musical numbers. Wow." She looked thoughtful for a moment but didn't pursue the subject further. Suddenly, she looked at her watch.

"Shit," she said, getting up, "I gotta go. I forgot Tom is actually going to be home soon. It's not often we get off-time together." And she winked. Rachel giggled. "So, we'll see you tonight! It's going to be so fun!" She left Rachel alone at the table, feeling Finn's absence. Looking at her watch, she realized he was in class, so she settled for sending him a text saying she missed him.

He replied an hour later, saying not to worry—he would meet her at the end.

**XXXXxxxx**

She told them to meet her in her dressing room a half hour after the show. Since they were going out, she chose to wear a simple short blue dress and low heels, and the red coat Finn loved so much.

"The show was fantastic!" Emily gushed. She wore a nice short black dress and heels, hair swept up. Tom was smiling beside her, in a black suit with a white, open-collared shirt. "Rachel Berry, this is Tom Foley". He extended his hand.

"I'm honored to meet you," he said, as she shook it. "As Emil;y said, you were great!" Emily had described him exactly.

"The honor's mine," Rachel said, "Emily told me you are a composer. That's just so cool."

"Well, maybe one of these days I'll actually compose something worth producing." He gave her a boyish, "aw shucks, Ma'am" grin.

Emily punched his arm. "Stop it. Don't make me look bad. I told her you were a genius." He sighed, then both of them burst into laughter. Rachel liked their easy banter, the comfortable way they seemed to be with each other.

"Okay, I'm ready! Let's go."

Tom gave them appreciative looks, and offered each an arm. "Ladies? Shall we?" The girls chuckled as they linked arms with him and walked to the train station in the still-chilly air, three young people enjoying the late-Friday-night New Yorkness of it all.

On the L train they exchanged stories about their home towns. Emily and Tom both grew up near the ocean. Emily was from Stamford, Connecticut, while Tom hailed from San Clemente, in California.

"Do you surf?" Rachel asked Tom. "Isn't San Clemente a big surf town?" She had a friend at NYU, Geoff Fielding, who was from Manhattan Beach, and an avid surfer. He had mentioned surfing San Clemente with his girlfriend Elena.

"Nah," Tom pointed to his glasses. "I can't see without these, and contacts drive me crazy, so I wasn't a surfer. But a few of my high school buddies were."

Stamford was a commuter town, where many residents, including Emily's parents, who worked in insurance, took the train every day into New York. She spoke dreamily of summers at the beach.

"Emily tells me you were raised by two dads," Tom said, "That is so cool."

Rachel smiled. "Yeah, I love them to death. They're one of the reasons I'm here, doing what I love. What about your parents, Tom?"

She could see he was fond of them.

"Dad was drafted as an army medic in Vietnam in 1967. He was with the 1st Air Cavalry, and the first week he was in-country, his helicopter was brought down by enemy fire. He was the only survivor—fortunately just some broken bones- and when he recovered and was sent back to his unit, his buddies began rubbing his helmet for luck, and called him "Doc Buddha". He went to medical school after the war, and worked for Doctors Without Borders in Cambodia. He met Mom, who is French and also a doctor, in Cambodia where they ran a bush aid station to care for refugees of the Khmer Rouge. They had to leave when both of them contracted bad cases of malaria after they ran out of anti-malarial drugs."

"Well, my dads are lawyers!" Rachel piped up brightly, and they all laughed good-naturedly.

Rachel liked them. Emily and Tom exuded warmth and humor and intelligence. They definitely had a passion for art, which fueled a discussion at the bar, which was called "Black Opium." The crowd seemed to be mostly hipsters, but there was also a smattering of professionals, so the three of them didn't appear too overdressed. A baby grand piano was on the small stage, unplayed. Tom and Emily ordered beers, and Rachel decided on some delicious hot tea with honey—she had noticed some vocal cord fatigue during her performance.

"Why did you leave NYADA?" Rachel asked, deeply curious. "Emily said that you and Carmen agreed that NYADA couldn't meet your needs anymore. How so?"

Tom looked embarrassed at first, but Emily squeezed his thigh. He took a sip of beer.

"I was in the initial phase of writing my first musical. The storyline was chosen, and I thought it was cool, but nobody else did, not even Carmen."

"What was it about?" Rachel asked.

"It was based on a horror story by a writer known almost exclusively for science fiction, a guy named David Welland. I think it's the only horror story he's ever written."

The author's name sounded familiar, and Tom must have seen Rachel trying to remember.

"He wrote a science fiction short story that's in all the 12th grade English textbooks, called 'A Patter of Ghosts.'"

"Yeah….okay…I remember that now," Rachel nodded.

"Well, the story I used, called 'Root and Branch', is about a young woman living with her father in an isolated farmhouse in the Carpathian Mountains of Romania right before World War One. She meets and falls in love with a young man, a stranger, who comes to the farm asking for work. He is charming and loving, and one day she takes him into the village with her to help load the farm cart with supplies. The local townsfolk are charmed by him as well, and when he asks the girl to marry him, they invite the entire village to the wedding. He tells his fiancée that he'd like to hold the wedding in the woods, in a beautiful open glade, at night by torchlight, and when she asks why he simply says it's a tradition of his homeland. "

Emily noticed Rachel sitting on the edge of her seat now, and smiled into her beer. Tom ratcheted up the suspense.

"Under a light of a full moon and torches, in front of the entire village, gathered in the glade, the two are about to be married. But—" Tom paused, deliciously, "At that moment, a host of shadowy figures emerge from the woods and surround the villagers. They are dressed in ancient sack cloth, and proceed to slaughter the villagers with long swords." Rachel gasped.

"They kill all but the girl, the boy, and her father… And then the boy transforms into a terrible-looking Old Testament death angel, declaring justice has now been served, eye-for-an-eye, for a pogrom that the ancestors of the villagers helped crusaders to commit in the Middle Ages, on that very spot."

"But why were the girl and her father spared? " Rachel wanted to know.

Tom smiled. "They weren't born in the village, but moved to the farm after the girl's mother died. They weren't descendents of the original villagers involved in the massacre of the Jews. Vengeance was reserved for 'root and branch', as the angel puts it."

Rachel looked distressed. "So the angel used the girl to lure the villagers to their deaths?"

"I think you can see why this story didn't get into high school textbooks," Emily said., and Rachel agreed.

"There's other stuff in the story, too, hints of a coming storm, vague fear of imminent judgement, and impending war. And it's set right before World War One. It's creepy and weird and fascinating."

"I bet Carmen hated it," Rachel said. Tom high fived her.

"She said it wasn't the kind of thing that would make a good musical. So did the composing faculty. I, of course, disagreed. And I still do. I think any subject can be the subject of a musical. " He shrugged. "They also had problems with my music. On that score, I think I should have listened to them, because it wasn't until later, when I met Emily," Tom looked at her fondly, " That she showed me how to better make the music danceable and expressive." Emily's head dropped, shyly. "Why couldn't I have met you sooner?"

Rachel loved their dynamic, one built upon mutual respect. Like Finn and me, she thought. And they were physically affectionate without being gross.

"Any way, I decided to leave and strike out on my own."

She asked Tom about the new musical. His face lit up in an adorable way.

"I haven't got the story line worked out yet. I want this one to be completely original, so I have nobody to blame if it flops." He grinned. "I've been having some long conversations with my mom and dad, and I think it may have something to do with their experiences, I don't know. But here's the thing: " He looked excited. "I think being so young and inexperienced in the business, and having Emily who is a bit more experienced, but not much, gives us a chance to really push some boundaries. I mean, I don't want us to be restricted to one way of thinking." Rachel liked how he kept saying "us", and looking to Emily as he did so. "I want this musical to entertain the hell out of people, but I want it to also expand the genre."

They ordered some more beers, and Rachel asked for more tea—her throat was feeling better. Then Tom continued:

"In 1913, Igor Stravinsky premiered his ballet _Rite of Spring_ in Paris, and it was so controversial, there were riots in the theatre. Riots! Can you believe that?" Rachel smiled, but Tom looked serious.

"I want riots at our premieres, you know?" Emily was giving him such an adoring look, that Rachel involuntarily felt an ache for Finn.

"Tom and I are thinking of starting a group of artists for this project with as many having little or no experience as possible, and see if we can't come up with fresh approaches to everything."

The artist in Rachel started her heart racing. As much as she loved playing Fanny Brice, the idea of being in on a piece of art from the beginning thrilled her even more. Art being born. Isn't that what it was all about? She could see how Tom and Emily's eyes flashed with excitement as they talked about it, and how it also fueled their love for each other. It was, truly, all about the art for them. And she couldn't help but think how much Emily and Tom were like her and Finn in that respect, and her ache for his presence overwhelmed her. Emily suddenly realized what was happening and stood up.

"Let's go powder our noses, Rachel," she suggested, and Rachel agreed.

"Are you okay?" Emily asked, when they were in the restroom, concerned.

Rachel just nodded, and pulled out her phone.

_***I want to make art with you* **_

She looked up and smiled.

"Let's go back ."

Several people were standing around Tom when they reached the table. "Regulars," Emily whispered. He looked happy to see them.

"They're asking for a song. Do you mind if I…?" He waved at the piano. Both girls just smiled in assent. Tom ascended the platform, and sat at the piano, fiddling with the mike. He grinned.

"This is my night off, but I'm here with Emily and a special friend, Rachel Berry, whose Broadway show, Funny Girl is a must-see!" Rachel blushed and waved. " I would ask her to sing with me, but she just got off singing her heart out at her show, and we want her to rest her voice for tomorrow." He smiled, flexed his hands, and cleared his throat. "Emily always tells me I look like Warren Zevon. Well, kidz, here is one of his greatest."

Then he launched into a raucous version of "Werewolves of London", pounding out the simple, sassy hook that made the song irresistible:

_**I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand**__**  
**__**Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain**__**  
**__**He was looking for the place called Lee Ho Fook's**__**  
**__**Gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein**_

He threw his head back to howl the familiar chorus, and the crowd joined him: _****_

_**Aaoooooo!**__**  
**__**Werewolves of London!**__**  
**__**Aaoooooo! **__**  
**__**Aaoooooo!**__**  
**__**Werewolves of London!**__**  
**__**Aaoooooo! **_

The wooden floor of the bar reverberated as everyone happily clapped and stomped out the rhythm.

_**You**__** hear 'em howling around your kitchen door**__**  
You b**__**etter not let 'em in**__**  
**__**Little old lady got mutilated late last night**__**  
**__**Werewolves of London again**__****_

_**Asoooooo!**__**  
**__**Werewolves of London!**__**  
**__**Aaoooooo! **_

_**Aaoooooo!**__**  
**__**Werewolves of London!**__**  
**__**Aaoooooo! **__**  
**_

Tom took off on an intense little piano solo. Rachel was impressed by his nimble, sure playing, and how relaxed and happy he looked at the keyboard. She looked over at Emily. The girl was entranced, eyes shining in the bar light, hands clasped together, supporting her chin.

_****__**He's the hairy-headed gent who ran amuck in Kent**__**  
**__**Lately he's been overheard in Mayfair**__**  
You b**__**etter stay away from him**__**  
**__**He'll rip your lungs out, Jim**__**  
**__**I'd like to meet his tailor**__****_

_**Aaoooooo!**__**  
**__**Werewolves of London!**__**  
**__**Aaoooooo! **_

_**Aaoooooo!**__**  
**__**Werewolves of London!**__**  
**__**Aaoooooo! **_

The crowd was getting more and more into it, singing along, even on the verses.

_****__**Well, I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen**__**  
**__**Doing the Werewolves of London**__**  
**__**I saw Lon Chaney, Jr. walking with the Queen**__**  
**__**Doing the Werewolves of London**__**  
**__**I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's**__**  
**__**And his hair was perfect**__****_

_**Aaoooooo!**__**  
**__**Werewolves of London!**__**  
**__**Aaoooooo! **_

_**Draw blood...**_

He finished with a flourish, to tremendous applause and whistles.

"I'll be here tomorrow night for more," he said, "Hope to see you then!" Back at the table, they talked until calling time.

Outside, Rachel looked for a cab, and flagged one down.

"Thanks so much for a great time," she told them, sincerely. "Do you think I could bring some of my friends to see Tom play tomorrow?"

"I'd be honored," Tom said.

"Bye, Rachel, see you tomorrow!" Emily took Tom's arm, and as Rachel got into the cab, she watched them walk close together, leaning into each other.

Her phone buzzed.

_***I want to make love and art with you* **_

She smiled and texted back:

_***Get to bed, Hudson. Beauty sleep and all. I love you.* **_

Leaning back in the seat, she felt at peace, and spent the short ride thinking about art. And its creation.

**A/N: lyrics are from "Werewolves of London", by the immortal Warren Zevon. The writer David Welland is fictional. Please review! **


	8. Chapter 8

Finn could hardly believe his second year of college was almost over. Here it was April already, with finals at the end of May. He felt good about his progress this year, with one exception: New Direction's failure to win Regionals this year was a major disappointment.

Finn's heart went out to the kids, because they had all put in more work than he ever expected. Even though they didn't win Nationals last year, at least they placed in the top 5. But several things contributed to their demise this year. First and foremost, Vocal Adrenaline had drastically improved the quality of their performances. They seemed to have finally clicked with Jesse St James's replacement, a retired Broadway veteran (and NYADA graduate, Rachel informed him) named Joan Samuels. She made Shelby's infamous discipline look as lax as the Keystone Kops, according to his sources. They also had a sophomore powerhouse equally as charismatic and talented (as much as Finn hated to admit it) as Jesse, named Barry Porter. Fortunately, or so Finn thought, New Directions had discovered their own secret weapon in a junior transfer student from New Jersey named Nadia Chernev, a true triple threat, with vocal chops almost rivaling Rachel's. And, in Finn's estimation, New Directions had a higher quality mix of supporting performers, with excellent morale, now that alumni support (much to Sue Sylvester's dismay) for the Glee Club had increased with Rachel's success on Broadway (he diligently sent her links to local articles referencing her success, though he knew she Googled them anyway- he just loved letting her know how proud he was). On paper, he and Mr. Schue had agreed, New Directions would probably prevail in a regionals slugfest with their rivals from Carmel.

So what went wrong? Finn was wrestling with that on a beautiful Spring afternoon, on a campus bench near the fountain. He had an assignment to write a reflection paper on his work with New Directions that year. The one from last year taught him a few things about self-assessment. He had shown the first draft to his Education professor, who returned it with some very helpful notes. "You need to bring your accomplishments forward more. I get the feeling you are hiding behind Mr Schuester out of deference," she wrote. "Tell me more what _you_ thought about your contributions to New Directions' success, and even what you contributed to its disappointing placing at Nationals. Good self-reflection is the heart of success as a teacher."

Finn took that advice to heart. He planned on including his direction of the school musical, _Guys and Dolls_, which went very smoothly (after a distinctly rocky start when the kids realized Mr. Schuester was letting Finn handle it by himself.). He was going to describe the steps he took to rally them to his side and eventually trust his judgement. He also planned on giving credit to Rachel's advice (which he sought often, but also which his professor was fully aware of last year). Dr. Jackson encouraged him to draw on every source he could to make a positive impact on the kids' education. "When they succeed, you have contributed to your own success", she told him once, when he wondered out loud to her during her office hours if he was cheating by tapping into his muse. "Rachel isn't the one guiding them day-to-day, and giving them direction," she told him. "You are. She inspires you to do what you have to do well, and to be your best. I wish all my students had a muse like her." He considered Dr. Jackson his mentor. Which was cool, really. How many people have both a muse and a mentor? On the phone, Rachel once joked that the way he talked about Dr. Jackson made her very jealous.

Finn was reluctant to go into what he thought contributed to the Glee Club's loss at Regionals, because, in all honesty, he felt it was Mr Schue's habit (from day one it seemed) of finalizing the set lists at the last minute.

"We're lucky that Vocal Adrenaline's in such disarray with that new coach," he told Will last year, "or they would have creamed us at Regionals. You know we weren't at 100% preparedness on those numbers." But, Finn had agreed, in their partnership agreement, that Will would have sole control of the set lists. And in the glow of making it to Nationals, it seemed like working on the fly was just the way New Directions rolled to victory. The loss at Nationals, while a blow to morale, was forgotten the next year when Nadia dazzled Finn's and Will's eyes. She was, truly, New Rachel caliber. And Will saw no reason to change his habits with Nadia as their heavy artillery. We did it that way Rachel, he told Finn; we can do it our way with Nadia. Finn, however, who was handling most of the rehearsal time, could see the club was skating on thin ice. He pointed this out when they barely squeaked by at Sectionals. But Will, enthralled by Nadia's solo, which was magnificent, didn't want to hear about the shaky routines. So Finn was left complaining to Rachel on the phone, and trying to work behind the scenes to get Will to finalize the Regionals set list quickly. He failed, primarily because he was trying to keep his own schoolwork under control. At Regionals, Vocal Adrenaline tore them up with a polished, disciplined, relentless set. Finn called Rachel in despair after the loss.

"I think New Directions was unique when we were in it," he said sadly. "We could get away with shit nobody else could. " He said he thought Schuester couldn't see that, and a different, very disciplined approach was necessary if they were ever to gain the National title back.

At that moment, Finn swore he felt Rachel's love and pride for him flow across the miles like a comforting wave.

"Finn, you know that I think your approach would have worked, had you been given full control. And I know you want to be loyal to Mr Schue, so I don't expect you to organize a coup any time soon." He smiled, enjoying her warmth. "But I think this shows that you have it in you to direct. I would love to see you direct a play or musical at college. Do you think that might work for you?"

There she went, he thought, making him feel like Superman again. "I love how you believe in me," he said, and heard her chuckle on the other end.

"Oh baby, I've believed in you since the day we met. Just like you've believed in me all these years. I have such amazing hope right now, for when we are together again, you have no idea." How could he not love this woman?

The warm wind picked up, and Finn stretched, luxuriantly. He even had the final part of his reflection worked out, the section on what his experiences taught him. He now realized he had it in him to direct on his own, his way. And to succeed.

**XXXXxxxxx **

They needed a book**. **Gina and Finn were in the lounge, doing research for a paper. Finn checked the library class reservation site—the book they needed was checked out.

"Maybe Vera has it." Gina suggested. Vera was in her room, working on something else, she had said. Finn dialed her phone, but was taken right to voicemail. So he got up and went down the hall. Her door was closed, and he could hear soft harpsichord music playing inside. He knocked.

"Vera?"

At first there was no response. So he knocked again. Finally it opened, slightly. Vera looked like she had been crying.

"Finn…this isn't a good time." Her voice was tear-swollen. "I just got some bad news today."

"What happened?" Finn asked, gently, purely out of concern.

Vera paused. He could see she was debating something internally, and he half-expected her to tell him she just wanted to be alone. But she didn't. Instead, Vera stepped back, ushering him inside, then closed the door. Finn took her desk chair as she sat on the bed. The way her shoulders sagged made her look smaller than she was. She looked lost. He let her take her time. Finally she spoke.

"A…friend of mine died in Afghanistan a few days ago."

Finn pulled his chair in front of her and grasped her shoulders.

"That's awful, I'm so sorry, Vera," he said. "How did it happen?"

"The helicopter he was in was shot down in the mountains by a missile. No survivors." She spoke in a hushed whisper.

Finn didn't really want to pry. But Vera was very reserved about her life with the group. He asked, "Was he a close friend?" His hands went back to his lap as a sad smile came over her face. She nodded.

"We grew up together. Our families are next-door neighbors. We were even born in the same hospital, one day apart. His name was Greg. We were best friends." Then the tears came. "Until I ruined it."

Finn said nothing. He could tell Vera needed to get it out of her system, so he waited.

"We did everything together, even sharing baths when we were babies. Our mothers put us in the same crib for naps, too, which spawned 'Greg was the first guy you slept with' jokes, years later." Finn smiled along with her. "We shared birthday parties, family vacations, everything." She paused for a moment, shaking her head.

"You know, you see all these rom-coms, where the guy and the girl are best friends, and they always start out thinking that falling in love with each other will ruin it, right?"

Finn nodded. He figured Rachel had made him sit through every one ever made. It certainly felt that way, at least. He had done it gladly, then, because, well, it made her happy. And he had wanted to make her happy.

"But they end up falling in love anyway, and live happily ever after."

"That's how they work, yeah," he agreed.

"I wanted that to happen to us. So in our freshman year of high school, I told Greg I loved him."

"And what did he say?" Finn asked gently, but he knew the answer. She clasped her hands in her lap, but still smiled.

"He told me that it was a relief, since he had loved me for quiet awhile, but had been afraid to tell me—you know, rom-com rules." Finn nodded.

"Good for him."

"Everything was perfect for three years, Finn, I swear. But Greg began to change half-way through senior year. His parents went through a nasty divorce, and I think he may have been clinically depressed. Anyway, his grades, which had been perfect, began to drop, and we began to fight over stupid things. Then it happened. He dropped a bomb on me one day, right there in the hallway—he was joining the Marines after graduation. "

Finn felt a twinge in his heart. He gave her a knowing, sympathetic look.

"And…I lost it. We had a huge, public fight that lasted several days. I was selfish, I know, but I felt like my world had been pulled out from under me. We said things, awful things, to each other. Neither of us went to Prom. And he left soon after graduation without even saying goodbye. I was too hurt and too proud to say goodbye, either." She paused, and hung her head. "I always thought we'd have the time to maybe try again, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction right then."

She began sobbing quietly, and Finn moved to the bed and put his arms around her. He didn't know what else to do. Eventually, the sobs subsided, and she continued.

"I thought I'd try and move on in college." She looked at him, apologetically. "It might sound strange, but I'm glad you turned me down. You didn't deserve to be a rebound." He just hugged her tighter.

"I never could get into the dating scene. I just knew I had to try again. So a couple of weeks ago, I wrote Greg a letter." She was breaking down now. "I said I didn't hate him, and took everything back, because I loved him and could he please forgive me and come home safe and be mine again. And Oh God, what if he didn't get the letter, Finn? What if he died, thinking I hated him? How can I live with that?" She leaned against him now, wracked by a pitiful, heartbroken moan .

"I'm sure he got it, Vera. He knew you loved him, and it probably eased his suffering." She clung to him, shivering now, so Finn laid her back on the bed, threw a comforter over her, and climbed in bed himself, never letting her go.

"Do you think he died hating me?" she whispered.

"Impossible", Finn said, stroking her hair. "No way." Her body began to relax, and he stayed with her until she fell asleep, promising to bring the others to Greg's funeral service for her support.

He brought her some dinner later.

"Thanks for helping me," she told him, earnestly. He stayed with her until she fell asleep again.

That night he told Rachel he loved her several times, just to make sure she knew, just in case. And he had a nightmare about boot camp.

Two days later, Finn was going to lunch when his phone buzzed. It was a text from Vera:

_***There is a letter in my mailbox. What should I do?* **_

He immediately thought the worst, that it was her letter to Greg being returned to sender.

_***It's not your letter is it?* **_

_***No…OMG, Finn…it's from Greg.***_

Finn found her in her room, sitting in the bed, knees up, gently rocking back and forth, the letter, tear-stained, clutched to her chest. He knew she loved him, and he didn't hate her either, and he would come back to her, because he loved her, too.

It was postmarked the day he died.


	9. Chapter 9

The idea for a road trip to New York for the Tony Awards was Gina's idea.

"C'mon, Finn," she told him on the phone, soon after school let out, "You get to escort Rachel to the awards ceremony. Why can't Vera and I come to New York with you, see the show before the ceremony, then try and see shots of the two of you on TV! It'll be great! And we can meet your brother and Santana! And road trips are the best!"

He had to admit the idea was appealing. When he brought up the fact it would be uncomfortable stuck in his truck with three people for ten plus hours, Vera, who was sitting next to Gina at the Lima Bean during the conversation, offered the use of her Jeep Grand Cherokee.

"It's at least _clean_," she quipped.

So he mentioned it to Rachel, and she was delighted. Of course, she had been in heaven since getting the nomination for Best Actress in a Musical. And the fact he could escort her made it perfect—the producers were even going to spring for his tux and stuff, which was very cool.

The plan was to arrive two days before the award, and spend three days afterwards. Duncan, unfortunately, couldn't get off work from his summer job, but that worked out perfectly for sleeping arrangements at the loft, because Santana graciously offered her bed to Gina and Vera, since she could sleep at her girlfriend Minnie's place.

The night before they left, after talking with Rachel about that night's show, Finn quickly took inventory: clothes (including a suit to wear at Sardi's), check. Money (including coinage for tolls), check. Tunage, check. Toiletries (though he knew Rachel would compulsively make sure she bought everything he liked as well, and he let her because she loved doing that), check. Red licorice, gorp and Dr Pepper, check. Gina said she'd make a picnic lunch, sweet. And Vera would have coffee ready for them when she swung by. Awesome.

He called Rachel again.

"My, Mr. Hudson, to what do I owe the honor of two calls so close together?"

"I just wanted to say how excited I am for you," he said. There was kitchen rattling on the other end; Rachel was getting ready for her dinner, Kurt had made a mushroom risotto. "I hope you're relaxing with some wine."

"I am baby," she purred. "I can't wait to see you and your friends."

They didn't want to end the conversation, as always. But eventually they said good night and he went to bed, eager to start.

**XXXxxx**

Vera picked him up last, at 6 AM. Finn opened up the back and stowed his gear, carefully hanging his suit's garment bag with the girls' on a hook above the driver's side rear door. His tux was waiting in New York; he had a tailor in Lima send his measurements to the tux place Rachels' producers were using. He sat shotgun, saying he'd take over driving next, and Gina commanded the back comfortably.

Vera headed north to US 30 and headed east to catch I-76 towards Pennsylvania, and Gina cried "Tunage!", sharing some date nut bread she had baked the night before. It complemented the coffee perfectly. Finn was in charge of the iPod, and began a playlist the three of them had put together the weekend before. Over the two years they had been friends, the three music education majors came to know each other's musical tastes intimately; the playlist was their communal musical statement, a set of music all three could enjoy.

Finn glanced over at Vera as the music began. She had the visor blocking the bright morning sun on her left, her blonde hair pulled back, wearing very dark aviator sunglasses, a white t-shirt and faded blue cutoffs. She looked fresh, pretty and relaxed.

"Man, I needed this," she said. "There's nothing like the road, good tunes, and good friends."

She was right, he thought. Their little group had become close-knit and supportive, even more so after Vera's Greg died. Finn hadn't told anyone the real story behind his death—that was her story to tell, after all—but she eventually told the others. The reaction had been wonderful: everyone pitched in for support, and it seemed like Vera had weathered the worst of it. "I have my sad days," she said recently, "That's when I play Schubert for him, and that immediately makes me feel better. God, he loved Schubert. Maybe even more than me." She didn't seem depressed, and the last week or two began telling some wickedly funny jokes, just like she had when they all first met.

The first song was Finn's choice. "It's perfect for the beginning of a road trip," he had announced in the planning session. It was a live version of The Byrds' "The Ballad of Easy Rider", with beautiful, gentle, complex picking by Clarence White, and Roger McGuinn's soothing voice:

_**The river flows  
It flows to the sea  
Wherever that river goes  
That's where I want to be  
Flow river flow  
Let your waters wash down  
Take me from this road  
To some other town**_

All he wanted  
Was to be free  
And that's the way  
It turned out to be  
Flow river flow  
Let your waters wash down  
Take me from this road  
To some other town

Flow river flow  
Past the shaded tree  
Go river, go  
Go to the sea  
Flow to the sea  


They let the soft little song ease them into the trip, passing through the world in which they were born and raised: fields of new corn, barely knee high, and the smell of rich wet earth from the recent summer rains.

Finn treasured the ways college had expanded his musical tastes. On his own, he had discovered the simple joys of the Grateful Dead on Friday nights. Talking with the two student DJ's for the show led him into more unfamiliar territory: the stoned country rock of The New Riders of the Purple Sage and The Flying Burrito Brothers, the San Francisco sound of The Jefferson Airplane and Quicksilver Messenger Service, and, most surprisingly to him, a deep, rewarding exploration of the acid-drenched, electric blues of Jimi Hendrix. He felt like his mind had been ignited, expanding, like the shock wave from an exploding star. Being exposed to Gina's and Vera's collections fueled it even more.

Rachel, only half-jokingly, told him he was becoming more and more like her, a person whose life had been taken over by the love of music to the point where it was difficult to think of little else.

The next song was Vera's pick, a stunning contemporary singer named simply Antony , performing an obscure Bob Dylan song, "I Was Young When I left Home":

_**I was young when I left home**_

_**But I been out a-ramblin' 'round**_

_**And I never wrote a letter to my home**_

_**To my home, Lord, to my home**_

_**And I never wrote a letter to my home**_

_**It was just the other day**_

_**I was bringing home my pay**_

_**When I met an old friend I used to know**_

_**Said your mother's dead and gone**_

_**Baby sister's all gone wrong**_

_**And your daddy needs you home right away**_

_**Not a shirt on my back**_

_**Not a penny on my name**_

_**Well I can't go home thisaway**_

_**Thisaway, Lord, Lord, Lord**_

_**And I can't go home thisaway**_

All three of them listened in silence: Antony's plaintive, sweet voice ached with loneliness:

_**If you miss the train I'm on**_

_**Count the days I'm gone**_

_**You will hear that whistle blow a hundred miles**_

_**A hundred miles, honey baby. Lord Lord Lord**_

_**And you'll hear that whistle blow a hundred miles**_

Wow. Finn glanced over at Vera. Tears were running down her face. But she was smiling.

_**I'm playing on a track**_

_**Ma would come and whoop me back**_

_**On them trestles down by old Jim McKay's**_

_**When I pay the debt I owe**_

_**To the commissary store**_

_**I will pawn my watch and chain and go home**_

_**Go home, Lord Lord Lord**_

_**I will pawn my watch and chain and go home**_

"Oh my God, Vera. _Jesus_," Gina was crying now, as all three of them felt transported to a sepia-colored world of desperation, dust, train whistles and cruel railroad bulls; of parables and longing for a bed; of sleeping under cold, strange stars. Finn did smile to himself, though: that's what Dylan at his best did to you, when he donned Woody Guthrie's mantle and gave simple dignity to the downtrodden and the lost.

_**Used to tell Ma sometimes**_

_**When I see them riding blinds**_

_**Gonna make me a home out in the wind**_

_**In the wind, Lord in the wind**_

_**Make me a home out in the wind**_

_**I don't like it in the wind**_

_**Wanna go back home again**_

_**But I can't go home thisaway**_

_**Thisaway, Lord Lord Lord**_

_**And I can't go home thisaway**_

_**I was young when I left home**_

_**And I been out rambling 'round**_

_**And I never wrote a letter to my home**_

_**To my home, Lord Lord Lord**_

_**And I never wrote a letter to my home**_

Finn handed Vera a tissue, Gina too. He even took one for himself.

It was the consensus of the group that Vera had impeccable musical taste. She loved the keyboard music of Bach and Mozart, and was a fine, instinctual pianist. Choral music was also a favorite of hers, especially that of William Byrd and Benjamin Britten. Soon after Greg's death, Vera had Finn sit with her, listening to Britten's heartbreaking "War Requiem" from beginning to end, musing on how its emotional significance for her was forcing a reassessment. "I almost can't bear to listen to it now," she said, "It's just too real." She was very fond of artists with unique sounds and perspectives, like Antony, Lou Reed, Joanna Newsom and Nick Drake, yet, as Rachel found out, Vera also knew and liked classic Broadway, Sondheim in particular. Finn particularly liked one of her recommendations, the Dark Wave band Dead Can Dance, whose Medieval-Renaissance-Middle-Eastern percussive stew he found particularly delicious.

The next song was Gina's contribution, Ben Harper's "Better Way". It opened with the dreamy, incense-soaked drone of a tambura, peppered with rich beats of tablas and other drums, a sound Finn was becoming to love. All three of them wore equally dreamy smiles as they involuntarily sang along to this infectious anthem to standing up for one's beliefs:

_**I'm a living sunset  
Lightning in my bones  
Push me to the edge  
But my will is stone**_

'_**Cause I believe in a better way**_

_**Fools will be fools  
And wise will be wise  
But I will look this world  
Straight in the eyes**_

_**I believe in a better way**_

_**I believe in a better way**_

Gina was drumming with her hands on Finn's headrest.

_**What good is a man  
Who won't take a stand  
What good is a cynic  
With no better plan**_

_**I believe in a better way**_

_**I believe in a better way**_

In perfect sync, Finn Gina and Vera dropped their voices and whispered the mysterious bridge:

_**(hope these words feel pleasant  
as they rest upon your ears)**_

Finn took the next verse alone, changing his voice to a strangled cry as Harper did:

_**Reality is sharp  
It cuts at me like a knife  
Everyone I know  
Is in the fight of their life**_

_**I believe there's a better way**_

Finn had a flash of Rachel as Fanny Brice before his eyes, before it faded and was replaced by…he wasn't sure. Never mind. The three of them sang the end at the tops of their lungs, because they were young, and pure, and had dreams:

_**Take your face out of your hands  
And clear your eyes  
You have a right to your dreams  
And don't be denied**_

_**I believe in a better way**_

_**I believe in a better way**_

_**I believe in a better way**_

Finn and Gina exploded in drumming along with the end, and Vera laughed.

"Man, that was awesome!" Gina exclaimed, settling back in her seat. She was dressed much like Vera, but with round sunglasses, her very fair skin setting off impossibly red lips. She had a strong soprano voice, as opposed to Vera's lighter, more delicate one, and loved to sing. Like Finn, she was only an adequate pianist, but just rocked a guitar: she and Puck loved to jam. Gina switched to bass when the four of them played occasional frat parties, and also handled lead vocals. Puck came up with their band name: Frankenteen. He never revealed his inspiration, and Finn wasn't about to, either.

Gina's musical tastes tended towards more socially aware pop music, hence the Ben Harper selection, as well as her favorite, Midnight Oil. This led her towards folk, where she found peace listening to Dylan and Baez.

"So, what does Rachel think of your listening to all of this hippie music now?" Vera asked, as the iPod began playing the Dead's "China Cat Sunflower".

"She surprised me by quoting from the movie "The Pink Panther," he laughed. "She said it was all part of 'life's rich pageant.'"

"Isn't that an REM album?" Gina asked from the back.

Vera chuckled.

"What did you expect from her, a Barbra Streisand anecdote?"

"She doesn't care what kind of music it is," he said. "With us, it's all about the art."

Vera nodded approvingly, and Gina clapped.

They had lunch at a rest stop just outside of Youngstown, and gassed up soon after crossing the Ohio/Pennsylvania border, merging onto I-80. They had lunch at noon, and Finn took over driving, to the dreamy groove of Jimi playing "Hey Baby (New Rising Sun)" at Berkeley.

"So what's Rachel going to do when _Funny Girl_ ends?" Gina wanted to know. She and Finn were sharing the red licorice, while Vera focused on picking all of the M&M's out of her share of gorp, dropping them in one cupholder for Finn and Gina to finish off ("How you can spoil good old raisins and peanuts with this crap, I'll never know").

"She used to say she'd just finish up at NYADA," Finn replied. "At least, that's what we talked about before the Tony nomination. That may change things. Even if Rachel doesn't get the award, just being nominated means people in the industry think she's got the chops. There are producers aware of her abilities now, and if I were them, I'd be climbing over the other's backs to offer her roles in my play."

Vera looked back, giving Gina a knowing glance.

"You wouldn't expect her to sleep with you for the role? What kind of producer are you?" Gina winked, and Finn erupted in laughter.

"I know, I know, I'm biased," Finn said, but grew somber. "I think about how her talent is being recognized now, and I get so proud I could burst, especially when I think about how people treated her worse than dogshit when we met."

He talked about her loneliness and isolation, the cruel comments on her videos, her clothing, and her family. And he spoke about her struggle to balance her drive to succeed and her wanting to be human.

"She sets incredibly high standards for herself. And she really had a hard time understanding that others didn't take well to being held to those standards too"

He told the story about the rift between Rachel and Mercedes over the role of Maria.

"I wouldn't discount your influence," Vera said, and Gina nodded in agreement. "That girl loves yer ass." He blushed. "And don't be so modest," Vera continued, "Rachel draws inspiration from you. And I bet you thought you only drew inspiration from her."

"C'mon, Finn," Gina said, as another of Vera's songs came on, Amos Lee's gorgeous "Black River." "You loved her when nobody even gave her a second glance. She told us how you defended her even when you were broken up." She ruffled his hair gently. "You're one of the good guys, man."

He couldn't say anything. All he could see was the image of Rachel in her wedding dress, and all he could think of was how much he loved her, unconditionally, and how he wanted to deserve her love.

"And don't give us that crap about deserving her love," Vera said, as if she could read his mind. "We know how cool you are. And how cool she is. You deserve each other. Now tell us about what you're going to do on the red carpet when E! Online interviews you…"

They were right, he thought. He and Rachel did deserve each other's love now. And he had the love of his friends, too.

Finn Hudson was well and truly blessed.

**A/N: Lyrics are by:**

"**Ballad of Easy Rider" by Roger McGuinn (with uncredited input from Bob Dylan) **

"**I was Young When I Left Home", as performed by Antony Hegarty & Bryce Dessner, written by Bob Dylan **

"**Better Way", by Ben Harper **


	10. Chapter 10

Finn, Vera and Gina arrived at the loft Thursday evening, around 8 PM. Rachel, of course, was working, so Kurt and Santana welcomed them.

"Hey, Frankenteen," Santana said, hugging Finn warmly, and Vera and Gina just burst out laughing.

"Gina, Vera, this is Santana Lopez, and my brother, Kurt Hummel."

"You must be exhausted, " Kurt said, as they settled on the couch. "Have you eaten dinner? No? Then I'll order us something in—Chinese okay? "

Waiting for the order, they chatted. Gina and Vera had attended Lima High School, not McKinley. Both remembered Finn and Puck from football games between the two schools.

"Lima always kicked our asses," Finn said, laughing.

"That's because you had no defense," Vera said. "Offensively, you used to get in some licks. Greg played safety for Lima, and he was always assigned to watch Puckerman because you two were a deadly combination."

Finn smiled and nodded, knowingly. They had talked about that before. "He was good. Puck used to say he hated that guy because he always seemed to find a way to get between him and the pass."

"Greg contributed heavily to your interception stats, Finn, we know," Vera joked. Finn laughed. "That he did, that he did." It was good to see her talking about him so openly. And it was good to be able to put a face (even if it was usually behind a helmet) to his name. Kurt and Santana had been told what happened to Vera, and Finn could see them beginning to relax around her, now that they could see she wasn't going to burst into tears any moment. But Finn did see a glistening in his brother's eyes; Kurt had been deeply affected by Vera's story.

The food arrived, and Finn, Gina and Vera immediately commented on how much better it tasted than what they were used to in Lima.

"It's the water." Kurt said, causing Santana to crack up, then have to endure a lecture about how New York City has some of the best-tasting municipal water in the country.

"Who cares?" Gina shrugged. "This is great". Vera's mouth was too full to comment.

After sharing some wine and stories, Santana said goodnight, heading over a block to Minnie's place, and Vera and Gina went to bed. Kurt stayed with Finn on the couch.

"Dude, it's ten o'clock, don't you need some sleep for tomorrow?" Finn said.

"Yeah, I'm going in a bit." They exchanged family news, and eventually Kurt decided to go to bed as well.

"Waiting up?" He asked Finn, smiling.

"Yeah." Finn blushed. "I won't be able to sleep until she's home." Kurt smiled sleepily and patted his shoulder.

"She is so excited you're here," he said, adding, "And not just because of the Tony nomination. Welcome back. And I love your friends."

Finn stretched his legs out in front of him. Even Vera's Jeep wasn't big enough to comfortably accommodate his height. He didn't watch TV, nor did he listen to any music, and he kept the lights dimmed so as not to disturb anyone. It was a time to just sit and think.

Glancing at his watch, he could tell the show had about one half hour to go, so Finn thought about Rachel working: waiting in the wings for entrances, dialogue with Art, and singing. She always tried to express, in their phone conversations, how each performance made her feel. He smiled to himself , remembering the first time she admitted wanting to make love to him in the middle of a song.

"It's hard sometimes," she had said, her voice filled with longing, "When you're not here, Finn." He honestly told her that he sometimes felt he could happily spend the rest of life just watching her perform, and that he could just as happily pull up stakes and move to New York to do just that. "Then who would _you_ be, Finn?" she gently admonished him. "I'd like to come see you doing what you love, too." Finn imagined being a music teacher somewhere, and his beautiful Broadway star wife coming and singing for his kids. Of having her inspire some youngster to greatness. Just like she inspired him.

Rachel would never know, Finn decided, just how proud of her he was. He fantasized about being on the red carpet Sunday and telling some reporter how he truly felt. He hoped he didn't mess up.

Eleven o'clock rolled around, and Finn decided he'd probably need some coffee. He was in the middle of making a pot when his phone buzzed:

_***Got your text. Thx for waiting up. Curtain call over. Be home soon. I love you* **_

He was reading it when Vera appeared, dressed in blue pajamas, hair in a braid.

"Hey," she said, getting a glass from the cupboard, "Just need some water." She looked at him.

"Rachel done yet?"

"Yeah. She's getting ready to leave." He poured himself some coffee and Vera followed him into the living room, sitting on a chair, her legs tucked underneath her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked. She nodded slightly.

"More street noise than I'm used to."

"Yeah, getting used to that takes time."

She was looking around the apartment.

"I love this place. "

"It's pretty cool," he agreed.

"I've only lived in dorms before. Maybe Gina and I can get a place next year."

"Why? It's more fun living with us on the floor. Besides," Finn winked, "You'll be stumbling over Dunc all of the time."

"Well, maybe I'll have my own boyfriend to distract me by then," she said with a saucy grin.

"Do you want one, I mean, right now?" They were comfortable enough with each other that he could ask that question without her taking it as judgment. Her face grew thoughtful.

"No, not now." Vera shook her head. "But I'm not a widow, you know? Sometimes I feel like people are treating me like one. My family certainly does. They even tried guilting me out of this road trip, asking me what would Greg's mom think, as if I wasn't allowed to enjoy myself yet." She snorted.

"What would she think?"

A glint appeared in her eye.

"Well, I went next door and asked her." That was something Vera would do, Finn thought. Good for her. "We've been helping each other through this, and she's always been like a second mother to me. She had always wanted Greg and me to get married someday, but when I told her what I wanted to do, she hugged me and said by all means go and have a good time. Which reminds me. Do you think Rachel could sign a playbill for her? She's a Broadway fan, and watches the Tony's religiously."

"Did she expose you to Broadway? Your parents didn't seem like Broadway types, when they took us all out for dinner that night." She touched her finger to her nose and grinned.

"The only thing Mary Stewart wants is for me to be happy," Vera said. "'Don't mourn too long,' she told me, 'And when you find somebody, make sure he's at least as decent as Greg.'" She stood up, wiping a tear away. "That's gonna be a tall order."

"I'll say," Finn agreed. "He'll have to impress all of us as well." And he winked. She hugged him.

"Thanks, Finn. I appreciate that. The thing is, I had essentially been mourning his loss for almost two years. I feel like I've cried most of the tears already. Does that make any sense? "

He hugged her back.

"Yeah, that makes perfect sense." He started to let her go, kissing the top of her head. "And when you're ready for someone new, we'll be more than glad to point out all of his flaws." Vera didn't pull away, but clung to him for a few seconds more, in silence. He hoped she knew they would never judge her on how she grieved.

"Okay," she said, finally, straightening up and yawning elaborately. "Enough therapy. I'm going to crash now. Good night, Finn. Thanks for everything."

"Anytime." He watched her disappear into Santana's room and smiled. She was going to be just fine.

At half-past midnight, the door finally slid open. He stood up, his heart beating really fast. Rachel entered and slid the door behind her, locking it,, then turned around with the biggest smile he had ever seen.

"Hi beautiful," he said.

She dropped her bag and was in his arms.

"Hey baby," she mumbled into his shoulder, then kissed him harder than he had ever been kissed in his life. Longing and lust, excitement and pure love, all ignited at once when their lips made contact. It was fierce and sweet, nothing like fireworks, overwhelming, like the pressure wave from a fusion bomb, unforgettable, a force of nature, _them_. He didn't know how Rachel and he survived this kind of passion; it never ceased to amaze him that their bodies and minds remained intact afterwards, especially since it was growing in intensity over the years, not waning.

Eventually, their lungs ran out of air, and they drunkenly stood, gazing at each other. Eventually, Finn caught his breath, and reached out, dragging the still punch-drunk Rachel into the kitchen.

"Sit down, I'll heat you up some grub," he said, and she just looked adoringly at him.

"You have no idea how famished I am," she said with a wicked smile. He handed her a beer, grabbed one for himself, and put the Chinese food he had ordered specially for her in the microwave.

"You ought to carry something with you, a Clif bar or some fruit to eat after a show, " he ordered. "Look at you, you're almost trembling. I bet your blood sugar is low."

"Yes, Dad," she giggled, "But I'm not trembling because I'm hungry." A wicked grin.

"Is that so?" he countered, and served her up the meal, everything she liked: Spicy Dandan noodles with sesame paste and peanut sauce, mixed vegetables, and spring rolls.

Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. He managed to steal one of the spring rolls for himself, and sat back, enjoying watching her eat. Rachel was like a high powered dynamo most of the time, but her grueling performance schedule demanded even more calories than normal. She was looking thinner, he noticed, and made a mental note to ask Kurt and Santana to add a little more fuel to her dinner, even though he realized it was hard to do with a vegetarian. Her usual high-speed chatter was silenced, eclipsed by chewing and ecstatic moaning for his benefit. He enjoyed his spring roll, dipped in some fiery Chinese mustard, and waited until Rachel's fire had been properly stoked again.

"How was the show?" he asked , when she sat back, waving her spring roll in the air, then giggling when she gave a beer burp.

"Nobody ever sees me do that but you, you know," she winked. "Never mind my show, how was the trip? It sounded like you made good time."

He nodded. "Your directions for getting here were perfect." Finn described listening to their playlist, and singing, and getting advice on how to handle the red carpet. Rachel silently clapped in delight when he told her about Gina's idea to sing his responses to any question. Then she grew serious.

"I can't believe this is happening," she admitted. He put the dishes in the sink, and took her by the hand to the couch with their beers. She cuddled against him.

"I hope I don't screw it up," he said, then chuckled when she snorted.

"You keep your composure under pressure," Rachel said, stroking his face. "You were a quarterback, and you told me that keeping calm under pressure was essential to playing that position. Remember?"

"You actually remember that?"

"I remember everything about us. Everything." She was dead serious. He kissed her.

"I'll imagine the press as a bigass defensive end coming at me, ready to lay the hammer down." She smiled and kissed him back.

"Tomorrow's Friday." Rachel said.

"Yep."

"After seeing the show, do you think your friends would want to go to Callbacks?"

"They'd love to. I'd love to." He wanted to make amends for that disastrous night. She clapped her hands, finished her beer, and cuddled close.

"Finn?"

"Yes?"

"I know it's been a long day, but…I _am_ getting lucky tonight, right?"

Lord, how he loved this woman.

**A/N: Reviews are welcome! **


	11. Chapter 11

The show was marvelous, as always. In the cab ride to Callbacks, Vera and Gina peppered Rachel with questions about her performance. He was so proud of her. She laughed easily and enjoyed their company, and when they arrived at Callbacks, there were a couple of paparazzi hanging around, and they snapped pictures of Rachel on his arm going in. She waved graciously; he just smiled, and Vera and Gina just giggled like schoolgirls.

Inside, Rachel looked around and waved at a couple at the bar.

"That's Tom and Emily," she said excitedly, as they made their way across. She hugged them, then turned for introductions.

"These are my dear friends, Tom Foley and Emily Lauder." She took Finn by the arm, "And this is my Finn and his college friends Gina Riley and Vera Masterson"

They all ordered soft drinks, even though Tom and Emily were older, and found a table. Tom looked over at Vera and Gina.

"How did you enjoy the show? Is this your first time in New York? " He was relaxed and friendly, dressed in a simple black blazer, open white shirt, and jeans. Finn liked how he instinctively made his friends feel welcome. Emily looked friendly too, in a sleeveless black dress, her hair up. She resembled Vera from certain angles, and her dress was similar to Vera's blue one.

"We were telling Rachel how wonderful it was," Gina gushed. "And it's our first time in New York, yeah." She looked very pretty in a short, dark green dress that accentuated her curves, red hair and pale skin. Vera just nodded. The two girls immediately began asking Tom about composing, and Finn listened in to Emily engaging Rachel in a technical dance discussion. He was just relaxing when two guys passed by their table, and one spoke deliberately loud enough for them to hear:

"Wow, Bernard, looks like Rachel Berry has stopped consorting with prostitutes and is now hanging out with NYADA dropouts."

What the hell? Furious, Finn started to rise to his feet, but Rachel calmly held him down.

"I've got this, baby," she said smoothly, and rose to her feet.

"Cesare, Bernard, what a coincidence!" The smile was sweet, but the voice held an underlying hint of menace. "Your names came up in a conversation at lunch on Tuesday! I got to meet and talk with the casting director of _Wicked_."

Their smug expressions vanished.

"She said several NYADA students had auditioned for parts that recently opened, and, since I'm still a student, Carey wanted to know if I knew any of them."

Oh shit. Finn had to stifle a guffaw, as did Tom and Emily, and even Gina and Vera could see where this was going. Cesare and Bernard suddenly looked terrified and hypnotized at the same time.

"She said you guys had auditioned for Flying Monkeys #2 and #3." Rachel paused, still smiling, and went over to Tom, putting her hand on his shoulder for effect.

Then her look hardened.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up on callbacks. Either of you."

She dismissed them with a wave, sitting in Finn's lap and kissing him as if they weren't even there. As they left, stunned, all of them could hear Bernard saying something about Cesare's big mouth.

Emily started laughing.

"Man, that was hardcore, Rachel." Tom just looked amazed, and Gina and Vera appeared puzzled. Finn was about to fill them in on her history with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (she had told him everything), when Rachel just burst out giggling.

"No, it's not hardcore. I did have lunch with the casting director, and she did ask me about the NYADA students, and I did see their names. I just didn't torpedo their chances. But they don't know that."

Everyone roared with laughter. Rachel stopped.

"I've seen both of them perform as Flying Monkeys in classes. And they're really, really good. I couldn't hurt Carey's show just because they were asses to me."

That was the bottom line for her, Finn thought proudly. Loving Rachel Berry had taught him that she was all about the art, with very few exceptions. Now, it was true she drew a line at performing with Cesare and Bernard—that bridge was pretty much burned—but it was because the two of them deliberately went after somebody she cared about, even if that somebody was Brody Weston. If she was inconsistent there, so be it. He'd back her up on that. He loved her.

The talk drifted away from Cesare and Bernard to her Tony nomination. Nobody seemed to agree with her that a win was an extreme long shot. She adamantly insisted that _Twilight: The Musical_ was going to be a juggernaut, and Jennifer Damiano's performance as Bella would win.

"Guys, " Rachel argued, "She actually made Bella's character three-dimensional and sympathetic. That's a miracle in and of itself."

"But you had to fill freaking Barbara Streisand's shoes!" Emily exclaimed. "Jesus!"

Rachel blushed. How often had she heard that?

"Well, I did try and put as much of my own spin on the character as I could," she said. "I adore Barbra Streisand, but I also want people to know it's me up there. And I'm telling you, Jennifer's performance was better."

Nevertheless, Finn could tell she didn't mind that the unanimous consensus of the group was, Rachel was a shoo-in.

Finn sat back and gazed about the bar. Nothing had changed in the few years since he had been here last. Pasquale was still at the piano. The music in the background was the same, bland techno-pop found in most bars. He thought about Cesare and Bernard and their petty concerns, and the fact that people far away from home were dying for their right to be so ridiculously vacuous. It gave him an idea. He leaned over and caught Vera's ear, and they discussed a song to play. Then he leaned back towards Rachel, who had resumed her conversation with Emily, and asked if he could interrupt for just a second, while Vera whispered something to Gina.

"Gina, Vera and I would like to do a song that we know. Is that okay with you? We'll try and get the audience in on the chorus. Would you join in?"

"Of course!" Rachel said, and kissed him. She looked so pretty in that crimson dress he loved.

So the three of them excused themselves, and went up to Pasquale—he gladly gave the piano over to Vera- and Finn and Gina took mikes. Finn looked out at the expectant faces, and Rachel's ecstatic one, and simply said: "This one's for Greg." Vera gave him an amazed, yet grateful look, and she began to play a dirgelike beat. Finn began to chant in a low voice:

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

He beckoned to the audience to come up around the piano, and continued:

_**You're too young to know**_

_**That you're too young to go**_

_**There's no freedom to be found**_

_**Lying face up on the ground**_

Rachel, Tom and Emily were on their way up, Tom wearing a knowing grin, and Vera and Gina joined Finn on the chorus:

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

_**Ashes from an unfinished life**_

_**Are all that's left**_

_**In a teardrop shaped locket**_

_**Hanging from his mother's chest**_

He knew what the stone was in the context of this antiwar song, but Finn wanted it to mean something more, something tribal, so he kept gesturing to the audience, and more and more people began to gather round him and the piano, chanting the chorus:

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

Rachel put her arm around his waist.

_**You whip the back of freedom**_

'_**Til it bleeds an oil stream**_

_**Then you settle down upon **_

_**Your killing machine**_

The room was pulsing around its newly-established focal point. Vera was crying, and for a moment they felt swept up in righteous anger and the power of music to change the world, the same things their parents once felt, so long ago.

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

_**Old men who send children**_

_**Off to die in vain**_

_**They will hear death's constant whisper**_

_**Or remember my name**_

Rachel was just looking up at him in an adoring way, as they swayed to the chanting:

_**I say-**_

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

_**Hey, hey, hey, hey gather 'round the stone**_

The applause was tremendous, and Finn suddenly realized something important had just happened. People were talking to each other around the piano, people that hadn't known each other a mere ten minutes earlier; a really good-looking guy was talking to Vera, and she seemed to be enjoying the conversation, and he grinned, and searched for Rachel's lips, and Tom and Emily were kissing passionately, and Gina was dancing with a guy and a girl to a beat somewhere in their heads.

"You had them in the palm of your hands again," Rachel murmured, pressed against him, as they made their way back to the table. He sipped his soft drink. Tom and Emily came over, and he had this excited look on his face, pulling a small notebook from his blazer pocket and scribbling something. Emily leaned over.

"Something just sparked," she said, crossing her legs and grinning from ear-to-ear. Vera and Gina returned.

"We were just talking," Vera said, pre-emptively, but relaxed when it was obvious nobody cared.

Tom stopped and sat up, thoughtfully chewing on his pencil. He tucked the notebook away then picked up his drink in a toast:

"To Vera , Gina and Finn: awesome song!" Emily and Rachel clapped.

Vera got up and hugged Finn.

"Thanks for the dedication," she said softly. "It meant the world to me."

"My pleasure, "Finn said, and Rachel snuggled close. It was obvious she was tired, so he decided it was time.

"I want to sing you a song," he said, to his surprised and delighted Rachel. Finn went up to Pasquale, who got up and Finn took his place at the piano, to scattered applause, and not just from his table. He sipped his drink, then fiddled with the mike.

"The last time I was here," he began, "I didn't sing. That was bad enough. But what's worse is, I didn't _listen_, either." He looked at an adoring Rachel. "I'm sorry, baby. This song is for you, and for a special picnic."

Then he placed his left hand over the right side of his chest.

The song started with a simple, rolling introduction, originally for guitar, but which he had transcribed for piano. His voice wasn't as high or as pure as the original singer's, but he brought it down a few notches so it still sounded good:

_**Oh... **_

_**I just wanted you to comfort me **_

_**When I called you late last night you see **_

_**I was fallin' into love **_

_**Yes, I was crashin' into love **_

_**Oh of all the words you sang to me **_

_**About life, the truth and being free, yeah **_

_**You sang to me, oh how you sang to me **_

He could see Rachel's hands clasped together under her chin, her eyes shining.

_**Girl, I live off how you make me feel **_

_**So I question all this being real **_

_**'Cause I'm not afraid to love **_

_**For the first time I'm not afraid of love **_

_**Oh, this day seems made for you and me **_

_**And you showed me what life needs to be **_

_**Yeah, you sang to me, oh you sang to me **_

Finn launched into the chorus, emphasizing the narrator's adoration of the girl's singing:

_**All the while you were in front of me I never realized **_

_**I just can't believe I didn't see it in your eyes **_

_**I didn't see it, I can't believe it **_

_**Oh but I feel it **_

_**When you sing to me **_

_**How I long to hear you sing beneath the clear blue skies **_

_**And I promise you this time I'll see it in your eyes **_

_**I didn't see it, I can't believe it **_

_**Oh but I feel it **_

_**When you sing to me **_

And the two of them were back on that stage, and he was telling her how her singing made him feel, from the very beginning.

_**Just to think you live inside of me **_

_**I had no idea how this could be **_

_**Now I'm crazy for your love **_

_**Can't believe I'm crazy for your love **_

_**The words you said you sang to me **_

_**And you showed me where I wanna be **_

_**You sang to me, oh you sang to me **_

He smiled, and a tear rolled down his left cheek, because this was their true language of the heart, and if he could ever go back to one point in time, it would be here, back when he shamefully gave her away to Brody that awful night before he left.

_**All the while you were in front of me I never realized **_

_**I just can't believe I didn't see it in your eyes **_

_**I didn't see it, I can't believe it **_

_**Oh but I feel it **_

_**When you sing to me **_

_**How I long to hear you sing beneath the clear blue skies **_

_**And I promise you this time I'll see it in your eyes **_

_**I didn't see it, I can't believe it **_

_**Oh but I feel it **_

The chords faded, to scattered, tentative applause at first, but then the dam broke, and clapping and whistles came from all directions. He stood and bowed, feeling the audience in the palm of his hand once more. Then he headed back to the table where Rachel, Emily, Gina and Vera were all crying.

Even Tom's voice broke a bit when he said, "Nice job, man."

He could face the press now, he was sure of it.

**A/N: Lyrics are from "Gather Round the Stone", by Ben Harper, and "You Sang To Me", by Marc Anthony and Mark Rooney. **

**Please review! **


	12. Chapter 12

Finn was never prouder of Rachel than the night her name wasn't called at the Tony Awards. The events leading up to the ceremony were a blur, starting with a team of people sent by the producers to make her look fabulous (as if they could make her look more fabulous, in his eyes). The dress, an ivory silk off-the-shoulder stunner by Valentino, caressed her curves; he loved how the slit accentuated her long legs. Her hair was straight, much like she wore it at the Prom, makeup perfect, with everything set off by a beautiful necklace that her dads had given her the night before. Finn got the royal treatment as well, with an elegant, perfectly-fitted tux.

Everyone remarked to him on how calm she seemed. Finn knew better, however. He knew the roiling, even conflicting, emotions underneath. The Tony was one of her life dreams, and to get it for the role of Fanny Brice was simply all of her dreams of success rolled into one. This was nothing new to anyone who knew her when she was in high school. But late at night, Finn was her confessor as well as her lover, the only person to whom she confided her doubts as well as her dreams. She had snuggled closer to him in bed the night before the ceremony, pressing her chest to his, saying she could feel their hearts beating in sync.

"I'm still not satisfied with my portrayal of Fanny," she said. One hand was compulsively twirling his hair. "After every performance I find something more I could do better. How can I accept an award for an incomplete performance?"

"Doesn't every actor feel the same way about a part?" He was stroking her back, which always relaxed her.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Then that makes you as deserving of the award as any of the other nominees, right?"

"Okay," she conceded, "But how can they give it to me, someone who hasn't even paid her dues yet?"

He countered smoothly:

"Anna Pacquin won her Oscar at age eleven. "What dues did she pay?"

"Oh, that was _good_," Rachel chuckled, kissing him. Then she asked, suddenly suspicious, "How did you just happen to know that, Finn Hudson? Did you actually consider all my possible arguments against winning, and come up with specific rebuttals?"

"Maybe. You can't expect a gentleman to reveal all his secrets."

She clung to him fiercely then, in the warm darkness.

"I never dreamed I'd ever meet someone like you," she said in wonder. "You get me at a level I never thought possible—for anyone." There was a pause. "I never thought anyone would want to."

Finn felt his heart clench in his chest when she said that. It was the old Rachel talking, the bullied, isolated girl who had nothing left but her dream.

"I want to," he said simply. "I love you."

She kissed him long and sweetly. He was her Finn, and she was the luckiest girl in the world.

"Finn, what if I don't win?"

"You aren't going to stop performing, are you?"

"Well, no—".

"Exactly. And you know, now that you've been part of the Broadway theater community, how good you have to be just to get nominated, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"No buts, woman." He playfully placed a finger to her lips, as if to silence her. She pretended to bite it in frustration. "Rachel, you've always said that all you ever wanted was to be special and to be chosen. Being nominated for a Tony by people in your profession makes you both by definition. The Tony is necessary only because, for some stupid reason, only one nominee can win."

She absorbed what he told her, then suddenly kissed him again.

"You chose me as well," she pointed out. "Don't forget that."

"I had no choice." He gathered her completely in his arms, pulling her closer to him, making her feel safe.

"I can face anything with you." There was joy, and relief, and confidence in her voice, tempered with exhaustion from it all. "The best thing about tomorrow will be seeing you in a tux again," she murmured sleepily. "You clean up wicked nice."

**XXXxxx**

In the limo ride to Radio City, he asked her again how she wanted him to act.

"Oh Finn," she laughed, "Like I've said before, you're my date. Act like you've always acted taking me on dates. You're the most chivalrous man I know. That's all that counts. Wave to the cameras. And if anyone asks you a question, answer it as best you can."

He felt silly, panicking like this. But he didn't want to ruin it for her.

"What if they ask me what I do?"

"Tell them. And if you don't, and I'm there, I'll tell them myself that you are studying for the noble profession of teaching. Do you honestly think I'd be embarrassed by who you are?"

"No, no, I just…"

"C'mon, Finn, relax. You brought my spirits up last night; now it's my turn. It's going to be fun, I promise!" She distracted him the rest of the way by playing with the slit on her dress.

He could see she had taken his advice to heart.

Outside of Radio City, Rachel was gracious with the paparazzi, even when Finn was trying to get her from the car to the red carpet, where they clustered, all flashing bulbs and yelled questions and it seemed like they would have to wade through them. His heart soared when one photographer yelled at her, asking who she was with. "The love of my life," she replied with a smile and a wave, which only set off a flurry of more questions about him.

"We'll be all over the tabloids tomorrow," she whispered to him on the way, and soothed his anxiety by squeezing his arm. It became fun after a while, when he realized she was actually in control of the situation, answering only those who approached them properly and respectfully, while making the obnoxious ones think that she hadn't heard them.

She posed like a pro on the carpet, and when they finally were able to get inside, made sure she found her dads, who looked like they were going to burst. She moved down the aisle to them, and hugged both lovingly. Then they found their seats. She and Finn had the first two seats on the second row. Rachel was in the middle of insisting Finn take the aisle because of his size, when she suddenly noticed Nathan Lane was in the third seat. Bashful now, she asked if she could have the aisle seat instead.

"Rachel Berry!" Lane exclaimed loudly, "Don't you dare take the aisle seat. You're sitting next to me and explaining what its like to fill Babs's shoes!"

Finn truly appreciated that Lane first asked to be introduced to him. He wasn't prepared for, but was humbled by, the high-five he got when he said he was studying to become a music teacher. Rachel was adorable trying to keep her composure during her conversation with the Broadway legend, and Finn admired his generosity in treating her as an absolute equal.

It was a revelation for him, seeing Rachel amidst these theatre people, as if she were always one of them. In a sense, he supposed, that was true. She had always seen herself as one of them, and strove all of her life to be one of them, enduring ridicule and scorn along the way. She remained adamant about his role in all of this, however. At one point, right before the names of the nominees were read, she squeezed his arm and looked adoringly into his eyes, mouthing how she would never have gotten here but for him. Then Nathan Lane made them laugh out loud:

"I can read lips, you know. Finn, take a bow!"

He kept seeing how, with Rachel, it was all about the art. As every other nominee's name was read, she clapped her heart out. She exuded respect, excitement, and joy; his love for her made his heart soar seeing her so happy. And when the camera caught them as her name was read, she flashed a huge, unmistakably genuine smile, but his eyes were only for her.

Betty Buckley and Matthew Broderick were the presenters of the award. Her eyes were fixed on them, and she was squeezing his arm so hard he thought it was going to break, and as Broderick fumbled with the envelope, Finn stole a glance at Nathan Lane, who winked at him. He held his breath.

"And the winner is…Jennifer Damiano for _Twilight: The Musical_."

Oh God. His heart stopped for a moment, but then he looked at her. There was a flash, but only a flash, of disappointment on Rachel's face, and then she shot to her feet, applauding like crazy, almost jumping up and down. Finn could have sworn she was the first one to stand up. And as Damiano moved down the aisle, he thought he saw her and Rachel exchange a glance of happiness and happiness for her.

During the acceptance speech, Rachel clung to him, but not desperately. She was soaking it all in, accepting it as part of her world. Nathan Lane pulled her close to whisper something in her ear, and she giggled with excitement.

"He wants to take me to lunch!" she exclaimed. "Finn, Nathan Lane wants to take me to lunch!"

Afterwards, he did get asked questions, which he answered truthfully, and she kept calling him the love of her life, and people treated him with respect, and, he thought he could tell at one point, envy. At some point he stopped worrying about screwing up and actually relaxed. Seeing her so happy with him as part of her world enabled Finn to let go of that one, overriding insecurity: that he didn't belong here.

"You see, Finn?" She whispered to him during one picture session. "They love you! You were born for this!" Then she gave an exaggerated sigh. "And you're mine."

On the way to the party the producers were throwing, she pressed into his shoulder.

"I am so happy, even if I didn't win" she said sincerely. "And having you here to experience it with me was the best thing ever."

And wasn't Radio City cool, and didn't her dads look fabulous, and they were so excited to be invited to the party as well, and she loved his tux and she loved him and even if she did win a Tony eventually, it wouldn't feel as glorious as it felt right now. And she kissed him there in the limo just because she was so happy he chose to be with her on her big night, and she couldn't imagine wanting to be here with anyone else, and said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

There was no question of him belonging here now. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, too. Here. And as soon as he finished his degree, that was exactly what he would do.

**XXXxxx**

They were standing in the ballroom at the hotel, drinking champagne with her dads, Art, his wife, and Talia. Hiram and Leroy were almost delirious after meeting Billie and Jerry. The producers had confided that Rachel was acquiring an enviable reputation for being easy to work with, but also for standing up for her artistic convictions, which was a very difficult balance to maintain.

"They said they'd be honored to work with you again, _Rachela_," Hiram gushed.

"The same goes for us," Art added, as Talia nodded vigorously. Then Art's wife pointed out one of the famous Westmore clan of makeup artists, and she, her husband and Talia excused themselves to talk to him and let Rachel enjoy her family. When her dads offered to go get more champagne, Finn found himself alone with Rachel for the first time at the party.

She should have been exhausted, he thought, but Rachel appeared to be even more energized, eyes wide at the glitterati (Oh my God! Is that Neil Patrick Harris?), yet determined to make him feel comfortable with her friends and colleagues. Not that she needed to worry. Finn fit in well, mingling with ease, and, she made him laugh later that night by telling him that one of the assistant costumers, who was gay and had "excellent taste in men" thought he was "gorgeous".

"I bet you never expected this to be as much fun, did you?" she asked, holding on to his arm because her feet hurt in the Jimmy Choo heels.

"I'm having the time of my life," he admitted. It was true. There had been times when he felt he was her only supporter, other than her dads. Not any more. And nobody treated him like the country bumpkin he once thought he was.

He was about to look for a chair for Rachel when, from behind them, a Brooklyn accent cut through the chatter:

"You wuz robbed."

Many years later, Finn liked telling how he wished his phone had been in his hand to catch Rachel's reaction when they turned around. Truth be told, it wouldn't have mattered, because he had to hold her up because they had just come face-to-face with Barbra Streisand and her husband, James Brolin.

"Ms. Streisand!" Rachel finally said, as Finn steadied her. "Sorry…but these shoes…" And then Rachel grinned, unexpectedly calm and collected, holding out her hand. "It's an honor to meet you and Mr Brolin!" Then she put her arm around Finn's shoulder. "This is my boyfriend, Finn Hudson."

Streisand smiled at him.

"You were Rachel's co-star at the National Show Choir Championships a few years back," she said, stunning both of them. Then came a conspiratorial wink. "Carmen Tibideaux is an old friend, and , when Rachel got the part for _Funny Girl_, she showed me the video of your performance."

"We've seen your show three times," Brolin said, "And it was wonderful." His wife jumped in:

"And before you wonder why we didn't visit or come backstage, I didn't want to freak you out. I wanted you to put your own stamp on the role. Which you did." She smiled. "I have a few notes about your choices, but they were small."

Rachel was beaming, and winked at Finn over the notes thing.

"Finn," Streisand said, "I need to borrow Rachel for a few minutes. Would you mind keeping my husband company and out of mischief while we talk?"

"Yes, Ma'am" Finn grinned.

Brolin laughed. "Let's get a drink," he said.

**XXXxxx **

Industry observers and tabloid writers took note of the sight of Barbra Streisand in a deep discussion with the young girl some people considered her heir apparent. Still others noticed James Brolin talking with the tall man who had been Rachel Berry's date.

"Don't get discouraged about not winning the Tony," Barbra Streisand said.

It still hadn't sunk in to Rachel that she was talking to her idol. She hadn't become tongue-tied yet. So she smiled and nodded.

"Finn told me that last night," she said.

"Carmen told me that playing Fanny Brice was your dream. After seeing your show a few times, I could tell it was. And it was great."

"Oh, thank you!" Reality was beginning to finally sink in, and Rachel started to gush. "You've been my idol since I was a little girl!"

Streisand was gazing at her intently.

"You're a Jewish girl from Nowheresville, right? I bet someone suggested a nose job, too. But you didn't get it. "

Rachel shook her head vigorously.

"No, I didn't. You were my inspiration."

"Even Fanny Brice's life is like ours, isn't it? Being told you weren't good looking enough?"

It was like what Finn told her, long ago, that she was inside his head. Barbra Streisand was inside her head now.

"Yes! Exactly!"

"So, what's your next move?"

Rachel paused. She hadn't expected that question.

"My next move?"

"Yeah. When _Funny Girl_ ends."

"I'm not sure. Finish up at NYADA, I expect."

Her idol took two champagnes from a passing waiter's tray, handing one to her.

"Honey," she said, "You're a Tony Award nominee, with the beginnings of a good reputation. You're going to be getting offers."

Rachel got the feeling Barbra was trying to tell her something.

"I guess that would depend on the offer. If Evita or some other iconic role came up, I suppose I'd take it."

"Sure, something like that would be great," Barbra said sipping champagne, "Your first role has been something very close to your heart. And I'm sure you know Evita line by line too, right? " Rachel nodded. " But I saw what you did with Fanny. You gave it your own personal stamp. That's good. It tells me you are an artist at heart, not just a performer."

She put her hand on Rachel's shoulder.

"If I have any advice to give you, for your next project, it's this: look for something new, something unique. A role you can create. Something you can be in on from the beginning, like Fanny Brice was for me."

The fangirl in Rachel was screaming to take over. Barbra Streisand was actually giving her career advice!

"You have no idea how grateful I am for this," she said, her hand over her heart. Barbra gave her an enigmatic smile.

"It's the least I can do for a fellow Fanny Brice." They clinked glasses. "Now let's go find our guys."

**XXXxxx **

"You rocked in that show _Pensacola_," Finn said. He and James Brolin were near the bar, nursing beers. Finn noticed both of them were focused mainly on Barbra and Rachel over in the corner.

"Thanks, man." Brolin said. "Are you a performer as well? You looked pretty good in that video." When he saw Finn blush, he added," My wife looked it up online and told me to watch it. 'Why can't you dance like him?' she asked me."

Finn laughed and shook his head.

"I'm a student in Ohio, where Rachel and I are from," he said. "I'm studying to be a music teacher."

Brolin clinked bottles.

"That's very cool. Are you coming here when you graduate?" Finn nodded.

"She's very lucky, you know, having someone as devoted as you." Finn just looked at him. "I saw the way you look at her, and supported her. And she looks at you the same way. And you're successfully working at it long distance, apparently."

"Well, the 'successfully' part has only been a recent development," Finn joked, but Brolin caught his arm.

"Son, making long distance work is crucial to loving someone like Barbra or Rachel. This business is hard on love, believe me."

Finn and James fell silent, watched the women they loved making their way back to them.

They clinked bottles again.

**XXXxxx**

The sun was just beginning to rise when they crawled into bed.

"I'm sorry you didn't win," he said., as she snuggled close.

"Thanks baby. But frankly, the Tony didn't turn out to be the highlight of my day."

"Getting career advice from your idol topped that?"

She shook her head sleepily.

"Experiencing it all with you was the highlight of my day, baby," she said. "It was a vision of the future. _Our_ future."

He managed to kiss her before she slipped into sleep. If this was the future, he thought, then he liked it. He liked it very, very much.


	13. Author Announcement

**Given the very sad news over Cory Monteith, I will not be updating this story until at least after his funeral. My thoughts go out to his friends and loved ones. **

**I will finish the story, however, because I think the characters deserve the ending I have in mind for them. **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: a few light vignettes from the aftermath of the Tony awards. I almost had these finished when we heard about Cory Monteith's passing. May they help ease your hearts. **

It seemed as if they had only just gone to bed. Yet someone was shaking his shoulder.

"Finn! Rachel! Wake up!" said a voice. It sounded like Santana, but he was in such a fog, it was hard to tell. Rachel was closely entwined with him; that was good.

"C'mon, Frankenteen! It's important!" Okay. It was Santana. Finn opened a bleary eye.

"Can't it wait 'til we get some sleep? What time is it, anyway?" He panicked for a second, then relaxed. They weren't entirely naked, at least.

Santana was standing over the bed, grinning. There were some papers in her hand. Behind her, Kurt, Gina and Vera were peering through the curtain opening.

"It's seven o'clock, and you two need to get up!"

By this time Rachel was stirring.

"Why do we have to get up?" she asked weakly, eyes still closed.

"You have to see these pictures from last night!" Santana crowed. Rachel shot up, eyes flying open.

"What pictures?"

"Yeah, what pictures?" Finn growled, eyes closed again. "Can't they wait until we get a decent night's sleep?"

"No. It's seven o'clock and I have to get to work soon, and I can't leave until you see these!"

"We tried talking her out of it," Kurt said. "But frankly, I couldn't wait either!" He walked into the bedroom.

Rachel grabbed the papers—printed from the computer- while Finn sat up.

"The least you could have done is get us some coffee—we didn't get to bed until 5:30," he grumbled.

As if on cue, Gina and Vera entered the bedroom with coffee mugs. Finn took a sip and looked over Rachel's shoulder.

"They're just paparazzi shots on the street," he said. "What's the big deal, did Rachel's panties show or something?" Rachel rolled her eyes, but chuckled.

"Not those," Santana said, impatiently riffling through the papers in Rachel's hands, stopping at one. "_These_!"

One page had four photographs: two of Rachel talking earnestly with Barbra Streisand, and two of Finn with James Brolin.

The coffee removed some of the fog, and Finn held up his hand.

"HOLD IT. HOLD IT RIGHT NOW." Everyone stopped and looked at him.

"I realize paparazzi shots are important and stuff, but shouldn't you be consoling Rachel for not winning the damned Tony first? Geez."

Awkward. Even Santana actually looked embarrassed.

"Yeah, sorry, Berry. That really sucks. Get 'em next time. Now, about these pictures…"

**XXXXxxxx**

After filling everyone in on meeting Barbara Streisand and James Brolin, and getting some sleep, Rachel and Finn found themselves alone for the day. Gina and Vera were off doing touristy stuff; Kurt was in class, and Santana was working. And it was Monday, so Rachel had the night off.

"Let's just go into the city and wander around," Rachel said, excitedly. "We've never done that."

It was true, so he got up and dragged Rachel into the shower with him. They hadn't done that yet in New York, either.

It was going to be a perfect summer's day: clear and warm, with low humidity. Finn was glad when Rachel abandoned her New York chic for a simple, short white sundress with red Converse low-tops, her hair in a messy braid. It reminded him just how young he and Rachel actually were.

She wanted to go to Battery Park first, and he balked, not wanting to drag up _those_ memories again so soon. He should have known she would win the argument; however, he did get her to promise to buy him a breakfast burrito there, which was cool. And the memories didn't hurt anywhere near as badly as he expected. Of course, Rachel kissing him passionately on the very spot that had set him off helped. Both of them felt the old pain easing away, as more pleasant memories of the place displaced the old.

They drifted north, wandering around the amazing Strand Bookstore, then had some coffee in Washington Square Park .

"I used to sit over there and look at your pictures on my phone when I first got here," she said, but didn't dwell on the memory, kissing him instead.

"Are we going to kiss away the bad memories today?" he asked.

"Is it working?"

"Yeah," he replied, softly. "It is." Almost instinctively, they sat on the bench, leaning into each other, holding hands. He wished Artie was here to take their picture.

Later that afternoon, they finally made it to Central Park, and she shyly led him back onto one of their sacred places. Leaning against the railing of Bow Bridge, the sun glittering on the water, the sound of the crowd and the ducks merging into a peaceful backdrop, she wore a serene expression.

"I haven't been here since that first time," she confessed, eyes half closed, letting the warm wind caress her face. "I didn't want it tainted by any bitter memories." He let her pull him closer. "This spot is pure, Finn. I want it to be pure."

"But we were still broken up then," he gently protested.

"No we weren't," Rachel said. "Not in our hearts."

"You looked so pretty that day." He leaned on the rail, and felt the sun on his face as she took his arm and pressed close. The breeze carried her sweet scent to him.

"I'm getting the city ready for you," she said, her face lit beautifully. "I want it to be free of pain and heartbreak, so when you move here it will be as we envisioned it when we were engaged, you know? " She looked up, into his eyes. "I want the pain to be gone, but the growth to remain."

He nodded, grateful.

"And then I want to become your wife."

**XXXXxxxx**

She did lose one argument that day. Kurt, Santana, Gina and Vera all told her that, while they appreciated the invitation, it was more appropriate that she take just Finn to Sardi's.

"Are you sure?" she asked Kurt, as he hugged her to death.

"I'm sure," Kurt murmured into her ear. "Have a special time together."

"That dress looks familiar," Finn said, looking worried, as they got ready. It was the dress her fathers had given her for the NYADA audition.

She held it to herself and looked in the mirror. "It's a beautiful dress. I thought it was time to give it some pleasant memories, as well, you know? "

There were paparazzi outside Sardi's, of course, but this time they knew his name, too. Some excited theater fans were there as well, and Rachel graciously signed autographs for a few minutes. One young girl came up to him, offering a notebook and a pen. He looked at her quizzically, as Rachel beamed in the background.

"Could you sign my book, please?" she asked.

He didn't understand.

"Why? I'm not a performer or anything."

The girl just giggled nervously, and offered the book again. So he smiled and signed, and watched, in wonder, as she ran back to the group she was with. Rachel took his arm and, as they entered the restaurant, whispered, "I don't blame her. You're gorgeous." And when he laughed, she added, "And you're everything to me."

Of course he knew what table she had reserved. And as they were seated, he couldn't hold back the emotions of the past few days anymore. Neither could she, and the waiter discreetly left them alone to wipe a few tears away with their napkins before taking their order.

"I know it's not the best table," Rachel said, apologizing unnecessarily, "but it's ours."

They looked around, and, to their relief, didn't see anyone they recognized. He saw her trying to hide a wistful glance at the caricatures on the walls, and reached over to hold her hand.

"You'll get there, I promise."

Throughout the meal they talked about Glee, reliving that first Nationals. Finn admitted Jesse was probably right about the kiss and their scoring, and Rachel mentioned she heard that he had moved back to Los Angeles, and found some minor work on local commercials. Finn shook his head, smiling.

"Good for him." He was finding it easier to let go of things, now, and let Rachel know that more growth had occurred:

"How about Brody? Has he landed anything yet?"

Rachel shrugged. "I haven't heard anything," then she grinned, "Though Cassandra said he's actually working as a cater-waiter, this time." She looked at him carefully before adding, "He did send me a text, saying he was sorry I didn't win."

"I'm glad he did. Maybe he does actually care for you after all."

Rachel smiled at him over her coffee cup.

As the left the restaurant, Rachel signed a few more autographs, then took Finn's arm for a walk. They avoided the route they took that first time; it seemed a good idea to lay off symbolism for the day, and just enjoy each other's company.

"Are you happy, Finn? Are you as happy as I am, right now?"

"Yes," he said. He had his girl again, this time forever, and a life with direction and purpose. And he had this city to call his home when he was finished with school. He was grateful for his life.

"Have you noticed it always smells wet here?" he asked her, and savored the kiss from his delighted future wife.


	15. Chapter 15

A few weeks later, on a Friday night, Rachel had dinner with Marge at the Monarch after their respective shows. While they were still coming down from the performance high, the discussion was about business. Marge said her play was probably going to remain off-Broadway, but the run could be for another six months at least.

"That means I can be up for another Obie Award," Marge said, laughing. She had been nominated this year, but lost. She looked beautiful, Rachel thought. Still slender and willowy in her mid fifties, Marge had gorgeous, deep red hair that cascaded about her shoulders, deep, soulful green eyes, and full lips.

"Now I know where you were coming from after the ceremony", Rachel commiserated. They clinked glasses.

"Well, you know what I think about your first Tony, Rachel," Marge said. "It's going to be for an original role, mark my words." She paused, then leaned forward. "What's this I hear about your run ending soon?"

Rachel shrugged. "They're still crunching the numbers. Billie says we're still in the black, and we'll continue on. My guess is, we'll make the two year mark."

Marge nodded, "Good, good. That means you'll have quite a cushion when you start auditioning again." She saw Rachel's panicked look, and patted her hand. "Honey, I've never known a Tony award nominee to ever be short of offers, especially one in such a high profile show."

"I know. That's what _our_ agent says." Rachel winked. She had taken up Marge's offer and signed with her long-time agent, Fred Callo. Her dads loved his bigger-than-life, cigar-chewing persona, which masked a thorough professional, a man who treated his clients as if they were his own children.

"I'm glad you love him as much as I do," Marge said. "When Nigel died, he stepped in and made sure I didn't fall apart. "And I'll never forget how he cried when I walked into his office ten years later and said I wanted to work again."

Rachel and Fred had talked many times over the last year-and-a-half about her next move. At first she thought he didn't dream big enough for her; when she talked about roles like Evita or Elphaba he would just smile and change the subject, talking about some musicals in development that looked interesting, just in case _Funny Girl_ ended suddenly.

"There's something you should know about Fred," Marge had said, when Rachel complained. "He not only knows the business, but he loves the artistry. He and Nigel used to spend hours in the corner during parties, passionately discussing plays. One night, soon after we were married, the two of them were deep in a conversation at some function, both drinking whisky, and I sent a waiter over with fresh drinks and a message for Nigel to go find his wife and pay attention to her."

Marge also told Rachel that Fred was cut from the same cloth as Billie West and Jerry Fineman, and had always championed experimental and cutting edge theater, as well as the mainstream stuff. "That's why I chose him, Rachel. Like you are fond of saying, with Fred, it's all about the art."

After her conversation with Barbara Streisand, Rachel saw just how valuable Fred was, and thanked Marge over and over. She was beginning to feel, more and more, a synchronicity starting in her life, a coming together of things, leading to…she wasn't sure. She had felt this before, of course, only the results had been devastating. The pain of her NYADA audition and the sheer soul-hurt of the train station still resonated every now and then. This time, however, was different. Before, there was always the doubt she could make it here in New York, the fact she still had to prove herself. Now it was abundantly clear to everyone that her confidence in high school wasn't just bluster. One of Rachel's most satisfying moments was when her rival in high school, Mercedes Jones, came to see a Funny Girl performance, and gushed unreservedly. The long-heart-to-heart conversation at dinner that followed led to a true reconciliation and a mutual promise to support each other's careers. Mercedes had ditched the slimy producer that nearly derailed her career before it started, and was working on another album. She asked Rachel to sing on it.

Financially, Rachel was in ridiculously good shape. Sticking to her college fund with the twenty-five percent NYADA discount, and living simply in the loft with Kurt and Santana enabled her to sock almost all of her salary away. Even after Fred's ten percent, her "celebrity slush fund", and taxes, Rachel figured she'd have close to $425,000 saved at the predicted end of the show's run. Her dads' accountant kept a close watch on her money, and it was being invested wisely. Nevertheless, Rachel indulged in only a few luxuries: her wardrobe was always up-to-date (and Kurt-approved), she owned a few pairs of Louboutin heels, the pantry was always stocked with Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee beans, and she hadn't told Kurt or Santana yet, but the rent for the loft had been paid in advance for three months.

The subject of the conversation led to men.

"How's Finn?" Marge asked over the coffee, as both of them assiduously avoided looking at the waiter with the dessert tray.

"He's doing great," Rachel replied. "Even though he has two years left, his advisor is already starting him thinking about applying to a Master's program..." She clapped her hands excitedly," In New York!"

"Good for him. For both of you." Marge raised her coffee cup in salute.

"So how about Peter?" Rachel asked, gently. After ten years grieving for Nigel, Marge had finally met someone that she felt comfortable with. Peter Hill was a new NYU faculty member from North Carolina, an historian, and he and Marge had been seeing each other for a few months.

"You know, Rachel," Marge said, smiling happily, "When Nigel was alive, I loved the role I played as an NYU faculty wife. We as artists know passion, but I adored meeting people there who had passions for almost every subject under the sun, not just the arts. One woman I met at an NYU function was the world's foremost expert on the Mayan language, while another specialized in the history of Soviet agriculture. I knew and loved Peter's world before he even got to NYU. He took me to a party recently, and I nearly broke down in tears when several people remembered Nigel and me, and welcomed me back as a long-lost family member." She dabbed one eye with a napkin. "But the best part is, Peter has no problem with people coming up and reminiscing about Nigel with me in front of him. He's a real man."

Rachel took her hand. Marge and Nigel had loved each other fiercely, epically, completely, only to have him snatched cruelly from her by cancer. It took her ten years to recover. Seeing her look so happy again was a joy, because Marge had been a wonderful, giving friend to her when she arrived in New York, heartbroken and alone.

They walked together to the train station, and Marge surprised Rachel by taking the J train with her, instead of the L train to Williamsburg, where she lived.

"Peter lives near the Myrtle Avenue station, didn't I tell you?" Marge said with a sly grin, and laughed as she received a patented Rachel Berry hug.

It was late, so she sent Finn a final text that night:

***Sleep tight, baby. I love you. And can't wait till I can tell you this in person every night***

**XXXxxx**

Black Opium was packed—even for a Friday . There were more than the usual number of young professionals there, blowing off steam, Tom noticed. He and Emily were at the bar, relaxing after Tom's last set for the night. They were drinking margaritas.

"You didn't tell me you were going to add Leon Russell to the set," she told him, delighted.

"That was the idea—I wanted to surprise you," he said. Tom knew Emily loved Russell's "Roll Away the Stone", and he liked its rolling, rocking piano part, so he worked on the song in secret and sprung it on her that night. He got a deep, impassioned ("just a down payment") kiss for his trouble, which was all he actually needed. He loved her, and she looked absolutely beautiful to him. Her hair was in an expensive braid, shining in the light from the bar, and she fit into her skinny jeans like a second skin. The black blazer over a simple white t-shirt completed the elegant, yet casual look that Emily just rocked.

The TV behind the bar was tuned to CNN, covering a peaceful anti-austerity rally in Wisconsin, protesting the layoffs of 100 Milwaukee teachers.

"Turn that crap off!" someone yelled from a group of thirty-somethings in suits at a table.

Tom held up his hand to the bartender. "Jack, can you just wait until this story is over?" Jack shrugged and complied. They were interviewing a young mother at the rally. She said she was there because she didn't want her small son to grow up thinking his mother hadn't spoken out against what she perceived as injustice, and—this was what grabbed Tom's attention- she wanted her son to carry on that idealism.

"C'mon, dude!" A loud groan came from the suits table. "There's a fucking game on!"

Emily, who noticed Tom sitting, transfixed, turned to the thirtysomethings and hissed, "Keep your pants on." The bartender changed the channel about a minute later, when the story ended, but Tom remained hunched over his drink, lost in thought. Fascinated, Emily simply sat and watched him. She loved when he got like this, which wasn't very often, because it meant he was tapping something very deep, something near the roots of his creativity. His brow furrowed, eyes closed, lips pursed in concentration.

Then it happened.

A song came on the jukebox, the Stones' "Street Fighting Man", and, at its distinctive opening of distorted acoustic guitars and pounding drums, Tom sat up straight suddenly, as if electrified, and Emily saw his face change from intense concentration to beatific release, an indescribable, transcendent joy.

_**Ev'rywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy**_

_**Cause summer's here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy**_

_**But what can a poor boy do**_

_**Except to sing for a rock 'n' roll band**_

_**Cause in sleepy London town**_

_**There's just no place for a street fighting man**_

_**No**_

Tom was grabbing absently for his notebook, but couldn't find a pen, so Emily quickly rummaged through her purse and handed him one. She saw his face light up, and then he was gone, hunched over again as the song went on:

_**Hey! Think the time is right for a palace revolution**_

_**But where I live the game to play is compromise solution**_

_**Well, then what can a poor boy do**_

_**Except to sing for a rock 'n' roll band**_

_**'Cause in sleepy London town**_

_**There's no place for a street fighting man**_

_**No**_

Emily signaled two more drinks to Jack, and looked about the bar, wanting to remember this moment. Her body moved sensuously, caught up in the song's intense, angry swing into the final verse:

_**Hey! Said my name is called disturbance**_

_**I'll shout and scream, I'll kill the king, I'll rail at all his servants**_

_**Well, what can a poor boy do**_

_**Except to sing for a rock 'n' roll band**_

_**Cause in sleepy London town**_

_**There's no place for a street fighting man**_

_**No **_

As the song faded, all droning sitars and piano, she sensed something in the air around him, an energy emanating from this intense man that she loved, and her heart began to pound, because she knew what that meant:

It meant he had the germ, the kernel for a new work. It meant months of intensity and sweat and joy and celebrating the creation of songs with bottles of scotch and making love.

It meant they were about to embark on an adventure.

**A/N: Lyrics are from "Street Fighting Man", written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: an essential, transitional chapter, and hopefully evocative of a turbulent time. Reviews are welcome! **

Tom was silent at first, on the short walk home. His brow was still furrowed, and he kept looking upwards, as if the answer was up in the night sky, eluding him. He did acknowledge Emily's presence, however, and she knew better than to interrupt him at that point. She contented herself with holding his arm and enjoying the balmy weather. Eventually he stopped on the sidewalk and visibly relaxed. Then he suddenly took her in his arms, dipping her back before delivering a passionate kiss. She giggled.

"Do you know what I love about you?" He was wearing that beatific look he had in the bar as he looked down at her. Emily shook her head, breathlessly. He pulled her up and cradled her face in his hands.

"I love how you understand and sense my moods. I just realized I've barely spoken to you since that news story caught my attention." He smiled, apologetically.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, mister. You can make it up to me with a good shagging when we get home," she grinned slyly, then: "and a musical."

They resumed walking. Taking his hand, she asked, "We do have a musical, right?"

Tom nodded. "I think so. I need to talk to my folks tomorrow first, though."

"Your Mom and Dad? Why?"

He gave her an enigmatic smile. "Because it's sort of about them."

Emily let go of his hand so she could do pirouettes on the sidewalk (another thing he loved about her).

"You're going to tell their story?"

"Not exactly. But the lives of the main characters will be based loosely on their experiences as students and in Cambodia."

"What's the storyline? At least, as far as you see it?" She was holding his hand again, and looking at him intently.

"It's about idealism. Dad was an undergrad at Berkeley during the Free Speech movement in 1964, and got drafted in 1967, so he missed a lot of the violent on-campus confrontations over Vietnam. I'm going to have the male lead character be a little younger, and entering Berkeley in time to get caught up in the 1968 anti-war protests."

"Why are you changing that part?" Emily asked, and he smiled.

"Because, in the summer of 1968, my mother was a student at the University of Paris, and was involved in the massive demonstrations and strikes that nearly toppled the De Gaulle government."

"Oooh. Nice parallels," Emily commented, letting go of his hand and dancing around him again. "And they meet in Cambodia, right?"

"Right. They leave due to illness, just like Mom and Dad did, and have two children in the States, a girl and a boy."

"That's another change." Tom had one older sister and twin older brothers.

"Artistic symmetry," Tom said. "The children grow up to become doctors as well, but seemingly without any of their parents' idealism. And then comes the invasion of Iraq, and the two generations square off, causing a rift…" His voice trailed off. "I don't know exactly how it resolves itself. That's why I want to talk to Mom and Dad."

"Did a rift happen in your family over it?"

"No. All of us siblings are hippies in one way or another." He grinned when she took his hand again, because she had called him a hippie once in a moment of affectionate frustration.

"Can you do a Skype session again? And can I sit in? Your mother is adorable."

**XXXXxxxxx**

His mother was talking about the May 1968 general uprising in France.

"I was at the University of Paris at Nanterre, which had been built only a few years before, and we were the spark for the whole thing." Amélie Foley was a tiny, slight woman, with dark hair and laughing blue eyes who spoke excellent English with a soft French accent. She and Emily enjoyed having similar first names. "We were peacefully protesting the administration's policies, and they answered by bringing in the riot police, those bastards, _ces salauds_," she growled. "The Sorbonne joined us, then students all around France." She shook her head, then. "We never expected the big unions to suddenly join us in solidarity, and call for a general strike. The whole country was paralyzed. The government, of course, blamed the Communists, but everyone knew they had been caught completely by surprise as well, and only reluctantly supported us. Ha ha!" She sipped from a huge white coffee mug in front of her.

"The Communists weren't behind you?" Tom asked, surprised.

"Oh _non_," Amélie said, "They could not bear the thought that the revolution had started without them! They called us all adventurers and anarchists. One of the popular slogans I remember was '_Je suis marxiste tendance Groucho'_, or, 'I'm a marxist of the Groucho variety."

"The whole thing was so _French_," his father quipped. Amélie playfully punched him in the arm. Bob Foley was an older, slighter, version of Tom, even down to the round-rim glasses.

"We just wanted a better society, a better France. A better world. And communism did not fit that bill any better than De Gaulle. There was another slogan: '_Nous ne voulons pas d'un monde où la certitude de ne pas mourir de faim s'échange contre le risque de mourir d'ennui_. (We don't want a world where the guarantee of not dying of starvation brings the risk of dying of boredom.) The Communists were boring."

Bob winked at the webcam. "Like I said…" His wife rolled her eyes. But Tom's father suddenly grew somber. "I wish I had been there with you," he said. "I wish I had known you, then."

"I wish you had been with me too," she replied, exchanging a tender look with him. "You would have been safer."

"_Mon amour_, I would much rather have been in the streets of Paris with you than getting my ass shot at in the A Shau Valley, that's for sure." He kissed her. They seemed to forget that their son and his girlfriend were watching.

Tom grinned sheepishly and shrugged at Emily, who took advantage of the situation to kiss him, too.

"Okay, kids," Tom said, "Can we get back to the subject?" His parents groaned. "I love these slogans. Any other good ones?"

Bob nodded. "Amélie, what's that really famous one, you know, the one about cobblestones?"

"'_Sous les pavés, la plage_'? "

"Yeah, that's it. "

Tom struggled through the French. "Under the pavement—cobblestones, I guess- the beach?"

"It was usually translated as 'Beneath the cobblestones, the beach!'" his mother said.

"What on earth does it mean?" Tom wondered, looking at Emily, who shrugged as well.

"When we dug up cobblestones to throw at the riot police, we found a layer of sand underneath—_la plage_, the beach, you see? The beach was freedom, freedom from the rigid society-the cobblestones—of De Gaulle. "

Tom started scribbling. Emily looked down at his paper: "Title-Beneath the Cobblestones."

"The whole year sounds insane," Emily commented. Bob and Amélie agreed.

"Things just went to hell in a handbasket," Bob said sadly. "Vietnam hit its crazy peak that year with the Tet Offensive, we had the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy, the police riot at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, the uprising in France, the brutal invasion of Czechoslovakia by the Soviets-it felt like the world was coming apart at the seams. We felt the older generation was taking us down with it."

Everyone was silent for a moment. Tom decided to change the subject. "Then there was Cambodia," he said.

"_Oui_, Cambodia," Amélie agreed, taking Bob's hand. They smiled, but it looked bittersweet.

"We ran a clinic in the bush country, in northwest Cambodia," Bob said. "MSF decided to step into action to help ease the refugee crisis in 1975, when the Khmer Rouge were consolidating power."

"MSF?" Emily asked.

"_Médecins Sans Frontières_—Doctors Without Borders," Amélie explained. "It is a French organization."

"Yeah, sorry," Bob said. "Thousands of refugees were fleeing to nearby Thailand. The Khmer Rouge were on a killing rampage, and people were terrified. It was the beginning of the rainy season, too, so we had to deal with high incidences of tropical diseases like malaria and dengue fever, over and above the usual refugee issues of clean water and nutrition, plus emergency treatments for gunshot wounds and limbs mangled from land mines…"

"Despite all that," Amélie chimed in, "We did find time to get married." She produced a photograph, depicting her and Bob, dressed in stained, worn, green fatigues and boots, standing together, smiling, looking impossibly young, Amélie holding a small bouquet of tropical flowers. Sodden thatched roof huts were in the background, puddles everywhere, against a dark green jungle backdrop. "A refugee who had been a mayor of a local village that had been overrun by the Khmer Rouge and a Buddhist monk married us," Amélie said. "It was simple, something beautiful to celebrate amidst all that human misery."

"We spent our wedding night under a mosquito net," Bob quipped.

"How did you guys get sick?" Emily asked.

Amélie looked pained. "The Khmer Rouge managed to shoot down two of our supply helicopters…and we spent several weeks without receiving antimalarial medications."

"It was awful," Bob added, sadly. "We had to take full doses for ourselves because if we got ill then even more refugees wouldn't receive even minimal care. We had run low before the expected supply delivery. So we soon ran out completely, and Amélie and I came down with severe malaria. It was so bad we had to be choppered out. A crazy ex-army helicopter pilot named Quist volunteered to fly in and get us, dodging small arms fire both ways, in drenching rain. We made it to Thailand and tried recovering there. But there were complications— Amélie almost lost her spleen—" he put his arm around his wife,"-and we both had some liver damage and recurring bouts with the disease for about a year."

Emily held her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God!"

Amélie smiled. "It turned out okay. MSF took good care of us for months, in a convalescent hospital in Geneva." She looked at Bob, lovingly. "That was our honeymoon."

"We wanted to go back and work out of Thailand," Bob said, "but MSF wouldn't let us. We had been weakened too much and they didn't want us to risk a second infection. So we came to the States. "

Tom scribbled something down.

"They hold a clinic once a week for the large Cambodian community in Orange County." Emily could hear the pride in his voice.

"_Oui,_ Robert and I both speak Khmer, which helps when treating the older people," Amélie said. "When we retire we can run it full time."

"So…you really want to use part of our story for your musical, son?" Bob finally asked, sipping his own coffee. He didn't seem to look uncomfortable.

"Yes," Tom said, and paused. "If you let me. You're my heroes." Emily just beamed. One didn't hear that much from kids these days. She thought about her own quiet parents, whom she loved dearly. They didn't speak much about their youth, but they were younger than Tom's parents. She wondered what stories they could tell.

Both Bob and Amélie gave their consent; the pride in their son was obvious. They signed off after promising to come to California soon for a visit.

Tom and Emily sat at their table, and sighed.

"Tom, I love your family," Emily said, "Your Mom and Dad are amazing!"

"I'm glad you like them," Tom said. "They are the strongest, toughest people I know, even though they look almost frail. That's lasting damage from the fucking malaria."

"And brave." Emily added.

"They didn't tell the full story," Tom said. "My uncle Luc in France told me they were extracted just in time from that clinic. A week later it was overrun by drunken, half-insane Cambodian Army deserters, desperate to escape being massacred by the Khmer Rouge and demanding drugs. When the staff refused, they killed the nurses and the one Cambodian doctor, and left a French-Canadian surgeon, a close friend, for dead. He was taken by advancing Khmer Rouge to a prison in Battambang, where he died of neglect while the MSF tried to negotiate for his release." Tears filled his eyes. "Uncle Luc says my mother almost didn't recover, she was so distraught and ill when she heard the news."

Emily hugged him.

"You need to honor them," she said simply, then lightened the mood: "Get thee to a piano, sirrah!"

For the rest of that day, she felt exhilarated. Something was in the offing, she knew; her body was aching to move to an anticipated, but as-yet undefined rhythm, written to the lives of people she loved.

She could almost taste it.


	17. Chapter 17

Rachel had a lunch date with Emily in a café in Ridgewood on the following Monday. They sat outside, enjoying the mild weather.

"You look excited," said Rachel. It was true. Emily looked fidgety, smiling broadly.

" I am. Looks like we have the basis for a musical!"

"Fantastic!" Rachel enthused. "Is Tom holed up in the apartment?"

"Yep. It's going to be called 'Beneath the Cobblestones'. He's still working out the storyline, but here's the great thing—it's partly about his parents!" At Rachel's furrowed brow, Emily explained the basic plot. "He hasn't quite figured out the resolution yet, but that'll be soon, then we can start thinking about the songs!"

"Wow," Rachel mused, "That's an incredible story about his parents. But I can see how the resolution would be difficult."

Emily sat up, interested. "How so?"

"Well, from the way you described them, Tom's parents don't sound very controlling. So, if their kids didn't have the idealistic drive they had, or came into conflict with them, I don't see the dramatic potential to drive the resolution in an interesting manner. I mean, wouldn't they basically just love their kids and be cool with their opinions?"

Emily looked deflated. "That could be why he is having trouble, yeah," she said.

After lunch, Rachel walked to her apartment, luxuriating in the fact she had no classes or performance that day. Along the way she stopped at a park and playground with a fantastic view of Manhattan. She had to tell Finn about it—he was probably on his lunch break from the shop.

"Finn!" she exclaimed as he answered. "I found this great park between the loft and Tom and Emily's, with a beautiful view of the City!" We have to come here! We have to sit on a bench together at night and watch the lights!" She heard him chuckle on the other end.

"Sounds great, baby" he said. "Enjoying your day off?"

"I am! I'm walking off my big lunch with Emily, actually. She told me Tom's working on his new musical! Isn't that great news?"

"Yeah, that is. He said he was close to coming up with a story when we were there. Does he have the plot?"

Rachel told him the basic story, mentioning the problem with the resolution. There was quiet on the other end, followed by a loud crunch.

"Finn! Was that a Dorito?"

"Sorry, baby," Finn said, laughing, "I needed to think, and you know Doritos are brain food."

She joked, "Then you must be a genius by now," enjoying, along with him, that light, intimate moment. She felt an ache in her chest because she wished he could be here with her, enjoying this view and even eating his beloved Cool Ranch Doritos, which she would never begrudge him, and, he knew, plucked from his bag every now and then for herself. Soon, she thought, it would be soon.

"What were you thinking about?" she asked, walking down the path past some tennis courts on her left. There were sailboats dotting the East River before her, and beyond them the Empire State Building and the Manhattan skyline, gleaming in the sun. A rush of love for this city, this place, eased, if only for a few moments, her need for him.

"I tried putting myself in the parents' shoes. I mean, they went through all that stuff before, then settled down and raised a family, only to find out their kids didn't carry the spark that had defined them. That has to be hard." There was another series of crunches, making her grin. "It'd be easy just to have them get angry and disown their kids, or something stupid like that. You know, suddenly turn them into the bad guys."

She stopped walking. "Do you have an alternative?" In the back of her mind she felt a tingle of anticipation, a sense that he did have an alternative, and that it would be important.

"Sort of. I mean, it's just me pulling something out of my…hat, just an idea." More crunching. The sounds of children playing on the swings. She waited patiently.

"You said they weren't allowed to go back to Thailand or Cambodia, right? Because of the risk to their health?"

"Yes."

"Well, what if the parents feel they have to make up for their children's lack of idealism and plan on going back anyway on their own, without Doctors Without Borders, despite the risk? And the children, who love them despite their differing views, try and talk them out of it, and end up with a compromise that awakens a sense of service in them too? I don't know what, exactly—"

"THAT'S PERFECT!" Rachel interjected, jumping up and down. "Oh my God, that's just PERFECT!" Her heart swelled with pride for him, for his unassuming wisdom and exquisite artistic sense.

"Wait…you aren't going to tell Tom and Emily, are you?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I am!"

"But it's Tom's musical, not mine..." he protested feebly, but she could hear his amusement at her reaction, and, if she wasn't mistaken, a note of pleasure, too.

" Finn, Tom can always go with something else, assuming he comes up with it. But this is soooo good I'm sure he'll love it!" She lowered her voice. "I wish you were here right now...I'd show you just how proud I am of you."

After describing in graphic detail what she would do, she continued walking, telling him about her show, and how much she loved him, and what she might do when Funny Girl ended its run.

She even bought a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in a bodega.

**XXXxxx **

Rachel called Emily and told her and Tom not to cook dinner—that she was coming over and it was on her.

"Figure out what you want from Ridgewood Eats and I'll order online and have them deliver, ok?"

"Sure," Emily said, laughing. "We love that place."

It turned out everyone wanted breakfast for dinner, and Ridgewood Eats was the best for that: pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Rachel had the pancakes so she could think of Finn's better ones, and some eggs for protein. After that bag of Doritos, the day was shot anyway, she rationalized.

"So, what's the occasion?" Emily asked. They were seated around the table in the spacious kitchen, the largest room in their classic "railroad car" apartment. At one end was the kitchen, and the two bedrooms, bathroom and small living room were laid out in a straight line, connected by a hall. It was quirky and simple; Rachel loved it.

"I wanted to talk about your musical," Rachel answered. "Finn and I were talking this afternoon, and I told him you hadn't come up with a resolution yet. Is that still true?"

Tom nodded, then waited until his mouth wasn't full of pancakes. "Emily told me about your conversation, and I agree with your analysis. I haven't had a chance to think about it further. Why? Did Finn have an idea?"

"Yes, he did," Rachel replied, carefully. "He was just reluctant to interfere with your creative process." She sipped her coffee, trying to gauge his reaction.

At first he looked puzzled, but Emily winked at Rachel, and she could see he wasn't upset.

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "I'm pretty open to anything that's true to the characters."

So she explained Finn's idea, and immediately saw his intense blue eyes light up. Emily's head bobbed in agreement. Then a dreamy expression came over him as he held a strip of bacon, thinking as he chewed, then swallowed.

"It's all about love," he said. "Love and concern for their parents, despite their differences. Not anger, or hate, or disappointment, but love. _That_—" Tom waved the bacon like a baton. "-is the catalyst for the change in their children. What a perfect resolution!" Emily beamed.

"If it works out, Finn will find himself in the credits."

Rachel felt a swell of pride for Finn, then. Her instincts regarding him had been right all along.

"Do you see why I think drawing from a creative well outside the established Broadway community is a good idea?"

Rachel had to admit it seemed like a great idea.

Tom looked over at Emily, who just winked, then turned his gaze to Rachel.

"This whole composing process is going to take some time. Emily and I wondered, first of all, if you'd be interested in helping run through some songs as I begin fleshing them out."

"I've been hoping you'd ask me that," Rachel admitted. The thought of being exposed to newborn songs excited her.

Emily turned to Tom and exclaimed, "I told you she would!"

"We were also wondering…" Tom looked very serious "… if you'd be interested in the female lead, once _Funny Girl _ends."

Her heart began to beat faster. Again, Rachel felt that sense of synchronicity very strongly, remembering her conversation with Marge, and having an agent like Fred, and the realization that _Funny Girl_ was ending, and that she had a good reputation and more than enough money to enable her to start taking risks. But there was one person she had to talk to first, the only one who could assess it with her welfare in mind.

"I need to talk it over with my moose," she said, giggling at their puzzled expressions.

Later that night, on the phone, he told her that she was born to take risks and make them pay off, and that the show's Paris scenes could have cool modern barricades reminiscent of _Les Miz_, and that he didn't need to be in the credits, and that he loved her, oh how he loved her, and she told him she was lonely and could they have phone sex and how dare he laugh that way at her. Then she made him laugh even more by biting into a leftover Dorito, telling him it was her heart food.

She dreamed about taking flight again.

**A/N: reviews welcome!**


	18. Chapter 18

Three weeks before summer vacation ended, Rachel called him and said she had been granted a week-and-a-half's vacation. Would he like to go with her on a trip?

"Um, sure, Rach. Where?"

"That's a surprise, mister."

A few days later he received a first-class plane ticket to New York and a handwritten packing list (with a gold star) in the mail. He was to include one suit, and, above all, remember his hiking boots.

He was also to make sure his passport was in order. They had obtained passports as part of their wedding plans, in case they wanted to slip into Canada on their honeymoon at Niagara Falls. So that was no problem.

"I'll meet you at the gate," she told him before he boarded the plane, and, maddeningly, refused to tell him anything more, other than she loved him. That, of course, was enough for Finn. He relaxed and stretched out his legs, grateful for her thoughtfulness and generosity.

Where were they going that would require a passport? Rachel had been right about her personality being full of surprises. The biggest surprise of all, of course, was that she did, even from the beginning, know him, certainly more than he even knew himself. And she had believed in him, when everyone just assumed he was fated to stay in Lima and run his stepfather's tire shop. That rock solid faith in him was the one thing he could always count on. He admired her strength in breaking up with him, too, because she wouldn't settle for less, even though it broke her heart to the very core, leaving her anchorless and vulnerable when she truly needed him the most. He loved how she scoffed when he told her he thought she was doing the heavy-lifting in the relationship.

"You ridiculous man," she had told him, hand brushing his cheek. "I know how hard it was for you to find your bearings in this world. Many people never do. They give up and settle for the easy way out. You didn't. You took risks. I know how hard it was for you to let me go. I know how scared you were to join the army. And I know how much of a leap it was to decide to go to college. You are all kinds of awesome, Finn Hudson."

As the plane made its descent into New York, and the prospect of taking his precious Rachel in his arms was imminent, he began to feel like he believed it as well.

There she was, jumping up and down so she could be seen amongst the taller folk at the gate, dressed casually elegant in jeans and a pale blue button-down shirt. She flew into his arms, sharing an intense kiss like the last time, but cut it off quickly. "We don't have much time," she said, and he noticed, for the first time, that she had her luggage on a dolly. She spent the time at his baggage claim telling him about Kurt and an upcoming audition, (about which he already knew, but she so loved getting excited for Kurt that he let her tell him anyway).

Part of the secret fell away when they checked in at British Airways for a First Class flight to London. When he expressed shock at what seemed to him such an extravagance, she squeezed his hand and simply said, "I'm allowed to enjoy the fruits of my labor every now and then." Which was true, of course.

"So we're staying in London?" They were in their seats now, and Rachel had just autographed a passenger's playbill from her show (he also took a picture of them).

"Just the last three days." Rachel replied, and, to his still inquiring glance, said "Now stop asking questions and relax with me."

It was time to do as he was told. The plane reached cruising altitude, the flight attendants served them champagne (in real glasses, not airplane cups!) without carding (probably because of that autograph request), and he just had to ask.

"You don't have to tell me where we're going, baby, but can you just tell me a little of what's going on?"

A soft, loving look came over her then, and she put her drink down, snuggled close, and sighed, happily.

"I'm tending the garden, Finn."

Both tried sleeping , but failed, dozing in fits and starts until awoken for the descent and scheduled landing in Heathrow at 7:37 am GMT. The morning couldn't have been more glorious: a fine English summer day, clear, punctuated by puffy white clouds, their shadows lazily trailing across the countryside. As the plane dropped into London over Westminster, Finn and Rachel were treated to a fantastic view of the Tower Bridge, Big Ben and Parliament before turning and landing in Heathrow, one of the busiest airports in the world.

The line for customs was long: several planes had landed at once, and Rachel and Finn found themselves, delightedly, amidst people from Nigeria, Bangladesh, and Hong Kong. Eventually they made it through, and Rachel, carefully following notes on her phone, led them to the Heathrow train station. Apparently, they had tickets (First Class) for an 8:27 train to somewhere called Newton Abbot. By this time Finn just went with it and settled into his comfortable leather window seat without comment.

Rachel excused herself for a moment, and returned with some coffee.

"Wow," he said appreciatively, 'Thanks!" Rachel smiled. He looked out the window. The train was already into open, green countryside. "Can I at least ask what direction we're going?"

"Sure," Rachel giggled. "We are heading southwest." That didn't particularly help, since he had only a vague idea of British geography. But it did tell him they weren't going to Scotland, at least. "And we'll get to Newton Abbot in about three-and-a-half hours. So relax, mister. "

As the morning progressed, the countryside began to change from the relatively flat, rich farmland of Berkshire around Reading to the more rolling, green terrain of Newbury. Finn and Rachel sat with a map spread on their laps, and just drank the scenery in.

"For an island country of sixty-three million people," Rachel marveled, "the UK sure has a lot of open countryside." Finn had to agree. And it didn't look like Ohio, either: instead of large expanses of cornfields, teh land was broken into smaller parcels by what looked like low hedges, or rows of trees. It exuded an ancient calm to him, appearing far more peaceful than even Lima. Rachel leaned into him, staring out the window, relaxing beautifully before his eyes. He trusted her implicitly; whatever plans she had made for them, he knew it they would be wonderful. Just the thought of spending so much time alone together gave him joy.

They laughed, told jokes, and whispered to each other as the train entered the rolling hills of Somerset. Suddenly, Finn, staring at the map, realized the next county they would enter was Devon. He looked at Rachel triumphantly.

"I know where we're going."

"Oh? And where's that?"

"Marge and Nigel's farm. You said it was in Devon, right? Well, Devon's where were headed."

She smiled lovingly. "Yes. When Marge sold it, it was turned into a bed-and breakfast as well as a working farm. The owners are old family friends of Nigel's. We have the gamekeeper's cottage. It's where Marge and Nigel spent their honeymoon, and Marge always stays there for a week in June. What do you think?"

"What do I think? Four days tucked away in a cottage in the English countryside with the woman I love? Are you kidding?"

**XXXXxxxx **

The term "cottage" was an understatement, Finn thought. Marian and Ian Leith's farm was a short car ride away from the Newton Abbott train station; they drove down to pick Rachel and Finn up.

"We hope you enjoy your stay with us," Marian, a pretty plump woman in her forties said. "Please tell Margaret we miss her and her gentleman friend already when you get back."

"We will," Rachel said, grinning at Finn.

They drove past the main farmhouse, and kept going down an old, curved, gravel-paved track towards some trees, and suddenly the cottage popped into view. It actually had two stories, much to their surprise, with a thatched roof and ivy-covered walls. The inside, in contrast, was very modern, with a living room and kitchen on the ground floor, and two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.

"We're not a typical bead and breakfast," Ian said after the tour and placing their luggage upstairs. "We can provide all three meals, but we serve them at the farmhouse. If you want to cook on your own, feel free to give us your grocery list and we'll pick them up in the village."

"We'd love to join you for meals," Rachel said, and Finn agreed. The couple smiled. "We can prepare a picnic lunch for any of the days as well, and there are two bicycles for you to explore with in the shed behind the cottage."

"It's noon," Marian said. "We can serve a light lunch for you in about an hour, which will give you some time to relax and clean up after your long journey."

"That would be wonderful!" Rachel said, and Finn simply smiled.

They took a long shower together, and after getting dressed in hiking boots, jeans, and matching plaid flannel shirts, walked hand-in-hand to lunch at the farmhouse.

It was a ploughman's lunch, served cold, with fresh, crusty bread, butter from a local creamery, sliced onion, chutney, and several local cheeses, with slices of cold pork pie. There was also excellent beer from the Otter Brewery in Devon. The onion chutney took some getting used to for Finn, but he put a serious dent in the other fare as he and Rachel held a delightful conversation with Marian and Ian.

Ian, a burly man in his fifties, with a strong Devon accent, was a childhood friend of Nigel's, and grew up on a farm nearby. He and his wife loved Marge, too, and were her first choice for owners of the farm.

"We loved Nigel, but it makes us glad to see Margaret happy with Peter. He's a lovely gentleman," Marian said. Finn was happy for her as well. He loved Marge because she had befriended Rachel right after the train station and helped her through that horrible time. He also thoroughly enjoyed her play, _That Hamilton Woman_, blown away by her performance as the infamous beauty Emma Hamilton, mistress and great love of the British naval hero Lord Nelson.

Marian and Ian told them that it might be fun that night to drive down with them to the local pub for dinner, an inn called The Sparrowhawk; some of the village folk said they wanted to meet friends of Marge and Nigel's.

"Only if you're up to it, of course", Ian said.

"You do what you want," Marian laughed, "He just wants an excuse to have a pint with his mates."

After lunch Rachel led him up a path into hilly land, following directions stored on her phone. She stopped at an empty pasture, opened the gate and went in. He followed her inside, until they stood in the middle, holding hands. The pasture had a commanding view of a beautiful vale, with patches of green fields laid out before them under an impossibly azure sky. Clouds drifted by. He enjoyed the warm wind on his face, and how it rippled the rich green grass. She stood next to him, taking it all in as well.

"Nigel's here", she said, almost whispering. It was over this field, almost twelve years ago now, that a heartbroken Marge had danced barefoot, spreading Nigel's ashes.

"They had a love like ours, Finn." Rachel took a deep breath of the fresh country air, then kissed him.

Soon travel fatigue set in, and they made their way back to the cottage for a nap.

"Finn?" Rachel asked him, as they got ready to get in bed, "May I ask you a favor?"

"Sure, baby. Anything."

"The way we sleep, you know, so closely entwined?"

"Yes. Is there a problem with that?" He hoped not.

"Yes." He was having trouble reading her face. It seemed so serious.

"What is it?"

"Well, when we sleep at the loft when Kurt or Santana are there, we usually wear pajamas of some kind, or at the very least, boxers and panties."

"Yep. But that was after Kurt made such a big deal about that time he came in and we had kicked off the covers." His curiosity was very high now.

"Well, I don't like it. When I sleep with you, I don't want anything to come between us. Including clothing." To emphasize the point, Rachel slipped out of her panties and crawled, naked, into the incredible feather bed. Finn followed suit.

"From now on, if they don't knock, they have no cause for complaint" he declared, and they curled around each other, becoming one. They spoke no more, as sleep came quickly.

**XXXxxxx**

They had been following the top of the ridge for some time, wooded combes running down to streams on either side, when he spotted what looked like an abandoned rail line further down one slope. Rachel excitedly took his hand, steadying herself as they semi-slid down the slope till they stood, near ancient oak trees, on the railway bed. The tracks had been torn up long ago, but the marks of the ties and some gravel still remained.

"Let's see where it leads," Finn said, and Rachel nodded. They held hands, enjoying walking along the nice level bed. The line ran northwest for some way out of Newton Abbot. There were so many trees that the only clear view they had was along the rail bed itself, and presently the bed gave way to an old railroad bridge crossing a river. The rails on it had not been torn up.

"Oh my God, look!" Rachel pointed ahead at a small black cat, sauntering across the river atop one of the rails. She took a picture. It paid them no attention. "This will be perfect for lunch," she announced, when they came upon a small open grassy area where the bridge began to cross the river. From there they could see across a tiny vale to more black-green woods on the other side. Even with the warm breeze, the rushing sound of the water below made it up to their ears.

They emptied their day packs. He spread out a red-and-white checkered cloth, and Rachel arranged the food—a ham sandwich for him and a cheese sandwich for her with a three-bean salad—along with two bottles of ginger beer kept cold in an insulated jacket. She even slyly pulled out two small packets of Cool Ranch Doritos she had carefully packed before they left. ("They're still intact!" she squealed).

After the meal, they lay in the sun, half dozing. Finn felt his eyes close for just a moment, and maybe it was just a bird, but he thought he heard the sound of a child laughing. As he snapped up, out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something, beyond sleeping Rachel: a glimpse of dark, tousled curls, strong nose and deep-set brown eyes, and a delighted little boy's laugh dancing amidst a patch of wildflowers. But when his eyes finally focused, less than a second later, nothing was there but the breeze and the birds, and his Rachel, lightly snoring beside him.

He didn't bother wondering about what it meant. Picnics with Rachel, from the very beginning, never failed to evoke some kind of symbolism, and they had given up expecting anything more ordinary from them. So he lay back with the most contented smile he ever had. And dreamed.

**XXXXxxxxx **

"For our last night in London," Rachel said, "We're finally going to see a first-class production**." **They had been disappointed by the two previous West-End plays. One was yet another musical reworking of Shakespeare's "_The Comedy of Errors_", which could have been great, Finn pointed out to Rachel, as they walked to their nearby hotel, had they not made the weird decision to have the twins in the production look nothing like each other, even with makeup. Rachel wondered if they were just trying to challenge the audience. Finn disagreed.

"You don't challenge an audience that way," he said. "It would be like dressing Fanny Brice in a clown suit and makeup for the whole play, you know? The audience spends all of its energy trying to imagine Fanny dressed in something else instead of focusing on the story."

She admiringly conceded his point by kissing him on the street.

They were staying at the Charing Cross Hotel, near the West End theatre district. It was elegant, but not overly so, and Finn liked how the staff treated Rachel properly, with respect and recognition, but without fawning and phony adulation. He also admired their treatment of him: just a respectful "Mister Hudson." Once while waiting for Rachel to come down after a last minute change of mind on an outfit, he had a wonderful conversation with the concierge for the hotel, George Barrow, a tall, graying man in his fifties. Finn mentioned they were seeing a smash revival of _West Side Story _the next night_,_ their last in London,and how Rachel had starred in the play in high school.

"Does Ms. Berry know the lead actress, Rosa Anaya?" George asked, and Finn replied he didn't think so. "She was born in Belize, which before the country's independence, was known as British Honduras," George said, "but she has lived most of her life in London. She's a lovely woman." He paused, then leaned forward. "Is Ms. Berry interested in meeting Ms. Ayala?"

Suddenly, Finn appreciated the value of a good hotel concierge. "Can you arrange it? I'd love to be able to surprise Rachel."

"Consider it done, Mister Hudson," George said. "Just stop by my station before you leave and I'll have the details ready for you."

Finn thanked him, and commented how he wished Rachel enjoyed the perquisites of her stardom more. "I don't mean being a diva or anything, Mister Barrow," he said, "I don't know. She seems to think she's too young or inexperienced, even though she led a major Broadway show for two years, and earned a Tony nomination."

George smiled. "Ms. Berry is a delightful young woman, sir. The staff thinks very highly of her. And, if I may be so bold, I think part of it has been your influence."

"Me?" Finn laughed. "I'm just a music student."

"You're a modest gentleman, sir," George said in all seriousness, "And she adores you. You keep her in touch with the better angels of her nature."

"Mister Barrow! " It was Rachel, having made her last-minute decision well worth it in his eyes (he adored how simple and elegant she could make herself look). "Thank you so much for keeping my Finn company while he indulged my wardrobe whims".

"My pleasure, Ms Berry, and may I compliment you on your choice?" Rachel was wearing a simple blue, above-the knee dress and heels, with a black wrap. She beamed. George looked at Finn. "Theatregoers these days have taken casual dress way too far." Finn laughed.

The production of _West Side Story_ was outstanding, Rose Ayala's performance in particular. And Finn wished he could have taken a picture of Rachel's face when she found out he had arranged for the two actresses to meet afterwards, because it was a priceless mix of excitement and love for him. Finn enjoyed a glass of champagne as the two women excitedly discussed the play, and found himself standing next to Ian Carswell, the play's director. Carswell brushed aside Finn's protests that he was just a music student and asked him what he thought of the play. All the times Rachel had him watch the movie version, and seeing all of Rachel's performances came in handy. He told the director he liked how he had made his version more… he wasn't sure of the word, and desperately wished Rachel were there to help him. "I felt it in my gut." He finally said. Finn had noticed that the staging had far more props on stage than he expected, causing the actors to take them into consideration when moving, and how that made the choreography more choppy, but also more real, somehow. He mentioned having wished they had done that for _Grease_, but their prop budget wouldn't allow it. Carswell nodded sympathetically, saying he had been inspired to do that by a production he had seen at the University of Cambridge, years ago. He blew Finn away by handing him his card, and as Finn stood dumbly, holding the card, he looked up to see Rachel and Rose looking at him, approvingly.

Later, after some of the best sex either had ever experienced, and after he thanked her for tending the garden, Finn lay awake long after Rachel had fallen asleep. The stirrings of something he couldn't even describe kept him awake.

He was happier than he had ever been in his life, but he could feel change coming, like the smell of rain promising deliverance to a parched land.

**A/N: Reviews welcome!**


	19. Chapter 19

"Well, look who's up early today." Kurt was standing, arms crossed, watching Rachel move about the kitchen making coffee. It was 8am, and a Saturday, which, for the last two years would have meant Rachel tucked in bed, dead to the world, trying to get as much rest as she could for the evening show and the two shows on Sunday. But _Funny Girl_ had been over for a week now, and she was beginning to adjust to that reality.

The emotional high of the last performance had worn off. She was unemployed. A year ago, that prospect would have terrified her, and "liberated" would not have been a word she would ever think could describe her feelings at leaving Fanny Brice behind. But right now, liberated was exactly how she felt: free to take a well-deserved break (which careful management of her money made possible), and free to ponder her future.

She beamed happily at Kurt. "I'm making enough espresso for two, and there is a pot of regular for Santana when she wakes up. Would you like a latte? No rice milk, I promise!"

"You're spoiling us."

"Are you kidding? After all the dinners you left warmed up for me every night for two years?" She began steaming some skim milk.

"After paying the full rent all last summer?"

"That was my pleasure, Kurt."

"I know. I just want you to know how amazing this last two years has been, and how much Santana and I love living with you."

"So you _do_ forgive me for the whole Brody mess? Just remember if you do, then you can't bring it up ever again."

He hugged her from behind, and rested his head on her shoulder.

"You know we only joke about that."

Rachel giggled. "I know." She poured the milk into the two coffee mugs with the espresso, and the two of them sat on the couch.

"Now what was that you were talking about yesterday, about your conversation with Carmen?"

She grew excited. "Well, she said I could start full time at NYADA again, if I wanted, or if I had an offer for another role, continue on the CSC like before. But I told her that in the next month or so, Tom Foley should have some songs ready to begin working on, and that I was thinking of getting involved and even playing a lead role if the musical gets produced."

"What did she say?"

"She asked me a lot of questions about Tom, and here's the cool part, Kurt—she asked me what I thought of his talent."

"Wow. And what did you tell her?"

Rachel grinned wickedly. "I said I wouldn't associate myself with his work if I didn't respect his talent."

"Whoah! You go, girl! What was her reaction?" Kurt couldn't get his mind around Rachel being able to have these kinds of conversations with the imperious dean.

"She said that she respected my opinion. She also offered a small rehearsal room with a baby grand piano for Tom, Emily and me to work in off-hours. Apparently, Carmen remembered Tom's quirk about not wanting to work on anything less than a baby grand."

"So you can continue with the CSC even if your work is on Tom's musical? Carmen must trust both of you, then."

"She told me that her instincts about me had been right, and wants to believe her instincts in admitting Tom back then were right as well."

Kurt shook his head in admiration. "Did you ever think your life would be like this?"

"To be honest, I've always believed I was a legitimate artist, you know that. What's taking getting used to is having important people recognize it as well. Even more important, though—" She leaned close, "—is getting Finn to recognize his talent. I swear, Kurt, his insights into Tom's musical and the way he impressed theatre people in England, real theatre people, Kurt, like _Ian Carswell_ , makes me wonder if he has a future in theatre rather than teaching."

Kurt grew uncomfortable. "Rachel, you know how committed he is to his degree. His confidence has grown leaps and bounds, thanks to college, and thanks to you. I can't imagine him choosing a different path."

Rachel sipped her coffee, with a faraway expression.

"Kurt," she said, "You know how I have dreamed of Finn and me as an artistic partnership, right?"

"I know." He patted her arm. "I just don't want you to do anything that might make him falter. Not when he has a great shot at succeeding as a teacher."

"I know. I'm just being selfish with my dreams," she said. "It's frustrating when I know—have known since the beginning—that he's an artist at heart."

"He may well prove to be that as well," Kurt said. "He could always moonlight, you know." He hugged her.

"God, I miss him," she said.

**XXXXxxxx **

They began work on the first song a few days later. It was an anthem, a chant, that began at Berkeley, with students throwing rocks at riot police, chanting "Hell, no, we won't go!" and morphing into French students throwing cobblestones, shouting "Poetry is in the streets!" While Tom and Emily wrangled over the rhythm of the music, Rachel perused Tom's general notebook, with plot and other ideas. She smiled over his comment about that first song: "Music must have powerful beat." Nearby, in Emily's neat, flowing script: "Find mix of 1960's dance moves with more modern, improvisational style." Then Tom's scraggly writing again: "Soul music?" This was followed by a note describing Charles DeGaulle's physical description, then a paragraph describing a scene where the female lead, Odette, discovers sand underneath the cobblestones, and sings out, "_S__ous les pavés la plage!" _Rachel sang it out loud, to try and get a feel for saying the words, causing Tom and Emily to look her way curiously, then with broad grins.

"I envision the poster for the show, Rachel, with you in a fashionable beret, open black peacoat and jeans, preparing to hurl a cobblestone, shouting that slogan. You'll become iconic!" Tom handed her a blank sheet of music paper. "I like the little melody you chose for that—write it down for me, if you would."

At first, Tom and Emily's communal artistic process seemed chaotic. Ideas were constantly being brought up, but Rachel didn't see a process whereby any of them were rejected; they all seemed to end up in the general notebook. To Rachel, who had always approached her art carefully and methodically, this seemed haphazard and unnerving. How could anything workable emerge from this?

She expressed her reservations at lunch, at a little café Emily recommended.

"When do the artistic _decisions_ get made?" she asked. "I'm not trying to push them on you—I just wondered how which ideas get chosen for the final product."

Emily got up from her chair and stood behind Tom, who was still chewing on his sandwich, and hugged his shoulders. "Once a week, he sits down with his laptop and the general notebook and distills things down. He even transfers music he's decided on from the sheets to the computer as well. "Of course, I have to ride him to do that." She kissed him, and he grinned sheepishly.

"I hate having to make those almighty decisions. But I am the composer, after all. I just like to let all ideas steep for a few days, just in case they look better after a good night's sleep. "

Rachel was relieved and intrigued. "I'm feeling tremendously excited over this," she said, taking a bite form her avocado, lettuce and tomato sandwich. "Mmmm… sooo good."

They began discussing more of the musical, including some of the logistics involving casting. One item was makeup.

"You and the male lead will be made up to look older in the second act. It can't be too extensive—it would take too long. Maybe some wigs and quick touches."

She wondered about aging forty years instantly, and what changes that would involve in her acting. That led to her drifting off for a moment, wondering what she and Finn would be like forty years from now. And their children. Being married for decades. It brought a smile to her face, thinking about what now looked like a certainty: that she and Finn would build a life together. No more obstacles, no more heartbreak.

The subject changed to what kind of voice the male lead should have.

"I was thinking about a baritone, to highlight some of the darker songs when the rift occurs with their children." Tom was waving a French fry around for emphasis.

"Maybe I should buy you a maestro's baton, baby, to get you to stop playing with your food." Emily winked at Rachel, and Tom pretended to ignore what she said (but did eat the French fry).

Eventually the talk drifted towards more mundane things. Tom and Emily were going to see a movie that night. Did she want to come? Rachel declined, telling them to have fun, and went home to clean the kitchen and start dinner for Kurt and Santana. A lasagna with ground turkey with a salad and some nice chianti she had delivered from a liquor store opposite Tom and Emily's apartment, who didn't card her because she had signed a _Funny Girl_ playbill for the owner's mother. When the table was set, the lasagna in the oven, and the salad ready to be tossed when they walked in, Rachel called Finn.

"I'm missing you right now, something fierce," she admitted. "I wish we could go to a movie, like we used to."

"I know, me too. Gina and Duncan and Vera are good company, but they aren't you, that's for sure. Can you believe none of them like Sour Patch kids?"

She felt the burn of that time they were in line at Carmel High's snack bar, and enjoyed the feeling of knowing that she was his girlfriend now, not Quinn.

"How awful," she joked, and told herself that he would never want for Cool Ranch Doritos or Sour Patch Kids again, when he moved here.

He was walking back to the dorm dining hall.

"What are you going to eat?" she asked him. How odd, she thought, even this kind of mundane conversation seemed fun and enjoyable.

"I don't know. Rumor has it there might be decent fried chicken."

In her mind's eye, Rachel could see him grinning wickedly. Of all the things in the world that could tempt Rachel Berry away from vegetarianism, it was his mother's fried chicken recipe, which she claimed had been passed down in her family from at least the Civil War. He convinced her to try it one night at dinner with his family, and everyone was shocked that she finished it all, never mind actually going back _for seconds_. After they were engaged, Carole had shown her the recipe, and the two of them practiced making it one night without telling Finn. He raved about it. She had planned on making it the first time she cooked dinner as his wife.

That was still the plan**. **

"Enjoy it for me, will you?"

He picked up on the latent sadness of her voice.

"It'll be soon, baby, I promise."

"I know."

It was time to change the subject. They talked about his schoolwork, which had picked up to the point he couldn't help with New Directions anymore. He did, however, say that his advisor, Dr. Jackson, had him assigned to begin helping direct a musical at Lima High.

"Wonderful! Which one?"

"You won't believe it," he teased.

"_Funny Girl_? Oh my God!"

He chuckled. "No, baby, sorry. And I can see you pouting!" She grinned.

"We're doing _West Side Story_."

She was jumping up and down in the kitchen, just as Kurt and Santana arrived.

"Finn! And you have Ian Carswell's card!. Are you going to contact him?"

"Gee Rach, of course…" he said, laughing, knowing that she was jumping up and down now even harder.

"That's fantastic! May I come down and help? Maybe bring Tom and Emily as well?

"Would you? That would be awesome!"

Later that night, Rachel called Finn back. She was curled on the couch with another glass of chianti.

"Hi baby. I miss you," she said.

"I miss you too," he said, and even though she knew he was in the lounge, and could hear his friends talking, Rachel knew how much he loved her, because he didn't try and lower his voice. He was proud of his feelings for her, and wasn't embarrassed to tell her so in front of his friends.

"Hi Rachel!" she heard Gina yell in the background.

Both of them knew this call was just tending the garden, a way of fending off the special kind of loneliness when one is separated from one's lover. But it was also a small celebration of the fact that they _were_ lovers.

She told him to sleep well, and that she loved him, and wished he could sing her to sleep in person, and he said that it would be soon, and that he loved her, too, and wished her a good day working on the musical.

Each fell asleep that night wondering how they came to deserve the other. Something bigger, something great, seemed to be at work.

Something special.

**A/N: Reviews welcome!**


	20. Chapter 20

The stage at Lima High School was similar to that at McKinley, so it didn't take long for Finn to get familiar with the setup. Dr. Susan Chastain, the principal, made him very welcome.

"We're lucky to get you," she said, as they sat in her office. "We have an orchestra and a choir, but no glee club, and both our orchestra and choir leaders are first year teachers. I cannot, in good conscience, ask either of them to direct something like _West Side Story_."

He wondered what made _him_ qualified, but she addressed that right away: "Dr Jackson says you helped direct _Grease, _which is pretty complex, and that your high school put on _West Side Story_ when you were there, but she didn't say what capacity you played. She also said you have a knack for getting people to work together. That would ease the first year for both my new teachers."

"I wasn't directly involved with _West Side Story_, but my fiancée played Maria, if that counts."

Dr. Chastain smiled, knowingly. "So you didn't miss any performances, then?"

"No, ma'am. May I ask a question?"

Of course."

"With such an inexperienced musical teaching staff, why are you tackling something like _West Side Story_? The music for that can get ridiculously complex."

Principal Chastain leaned back in her chair. "We received a large donation from an alumnus, who wanted us to put it on this year, the fifth anniversary of his wife's death. It was her favorite musical."

Finn nodded.

"It should cover all of the prop and costuming costs, with significant additional funds for special items."

"Who has control over the budget decisions?"

"Technically, I do, but since I don't know anything about producing a show, I want you to take the lead on that. I'd appreciate being kept in the loop, of course, and I'd like the donor, Jonas Merriweather, to be involved, if possible."

Finn thought about it, as he felt his pulse racing. This was an amazing opportunity.

"I'll have to do some research first," he said. "When I come back on Wednesday, I'll have some specific suggestions."

Dr Chastain looked happy. "I look forward to hearing them. Now let's meet the teachers. "

**XXXxxx**

He called Rachel that night.

"I've got some ideas I need to run by you, baby" he said, excitedly.

"First of all, they have no dance program at the school, so I have nobody qualified to judge the kids' abilities in that area. Singing auditions are being handled by the choir teacher, and instrumentals by the orchestra leader. With me sitting in, of course."

Rachel smiled at his enthusiasm. "So how are you going to handle the choreography?"

"Well, I wanted to ask you—do you know if any of the dance teachers in Lima that you worked with are experienced in choreography?"

Rachel thought a moment. She had gone through several dance teachers, when she was younger before settling on Grace Metcalf's studio. She had no experience in stage choreography, as far as she knew, but Madelyn Jones did. She had taught choreography at Oberlin before retiring and running her own studio, and Rachel had only left her because Grace had fewer students and her dads wanted her to get more teaching time. .

"Oh Finn! What an amazing idea! Check with Madelyn Jones at 'Music in Motion'. She taught choreography! "

"Would it be all right if I dropped your name?"

"Of course it would be all right! I loved her teaching style."

"Okay, but I'm warning you, I'm going to be pretty shameless with your reputation in order to get what I want."

She laughed gaily, and felt a sudden warmth flood through her. This was her Finn, in the process of making art. She wished he were here, so she could show him the physical effect he has having on her right now. She couldn't remember wanting him more in her life.

"Do you have any money in the budget for consulting like this?"

"There's supposed to be, but I don't know how much. I'm thinking about ways we might save money, but nothing specific."

"May I help?"

"How?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe I could buy newspaper or web ads for any consultants you take on in lieu of them getting some fancy fee. That way you could use the budget money for other things you might need."

"But baby, that can get expensive."

"Finn, I'll take it from my celebrity slush fund, and just have to give up a couple of designer dresses and cab rides with Barbra. That's nothing when it comes to you. You know that, right?"

There was quiet on the other end. Then:

"Do you know how much I want to kiss you right now?"

"Just kiss me?" She gave him a wicked chuckle.

"I'll show you what I had in mind, next time I have you to myself."

"You'd better, Hudson."

He went on to tell her that, after talking with the orchestra and choir teachers, it was clear to him that, in order to do the show right, considering the complexity of the music and the playing level of the students, some more experienced musicians and singers might need to be brought in.

"You aren't thinking about professionals, are you?"

"No, not exactly. Something the orchestra teacher said about his students hit me. He said many of them came from musical families. His first chair cellist said her dad was a former professional trumpet player, for example, and one of the singers had an aunt who sang opera in college. I thought: what better way to celebrate community than to have family members join in the show? So I asked them to have their students solicit musical help."

"Finn," Rachel said softly, her voice filled with pride, her body beginning to just, well, _ache_ for him, "That is a brilliant idea." She could hear the rustling of paper.

"Thanks! And there's more! Burt says he will ask his friends in the Lima Chamber of Commerce for volunteer help with stuff like carpentry and audio—to help the AV and shop teachers out, and maybe even get a DVD produced! This could be a classy production, baby!"

He was a fountain brimming with ideas, and the excitement in his voice just made it harder for her to concentrate.

"Finn…?" she interrupted, almost whimpering.

"Yeah, baby?"

"What are you wearing?"

**XXXxxxx**

Tom and Emily loved Rachel's idea of taking a "working vacation" from the musical, and travelling to Lima to give Finn a hand on _West Side Story_.

"Any excuse to get laid in Ohio," Emily grumbled.

The production was set to open in two weeks, so Rachel told Finn they would be in Lima to help with anything he might need.

"We're at your disposal, baby" she told him on the phone. "You said the girl playing Maria needed some coaching. I'll handle that so Ms Edmundsen can work with the other singers. Emily says she'll work drilling the weaker dancers while Madelyn takes care of other things needing her attention. You also mentioned the orchestra teacher is weak on brass and woodwinds—Tom said he'll work with them."

Finn was overwhelmed. Things had been going well—better than he had ever expected—but to get expert help for some of the weak areas was a godsend.

He met them at Dayton airport on Saturday, borrowing Vera's Jeep.

"I'm fighting lots of little fires," he told them on the way back, "So having you guys help me with some of them is just awesome!"

"No problem," Tom said from the back seat, "This break will help recharge our creative energy." Emily nodded.

Rachel was uncharacteristically quiet, but Finn knew why: her hand kept rubbing his inner thigh.

Burt and Carole were in DC again, so Tom and Emily got to stay in the Hudson-Hummel guest room, while Rachel, of course, was with Finn. That night Vera, Gina, Duncan, John, Geraldine, and Puck joined them for a massive pizza-and-beer dinner. The conversation was kept light and semi-gossipy. The biggest news was Gina's outing Vera and her "date" with a pre-med student named Barry the weekend before. It was her first since Greg's death.

"It was fun," Vera said, with a shrug and an enigmatic grin, but gave no details.

"We still haven't vetted him yet," Finn pointed out. "You promised!"

"It was just coffee. I need to…take it slow. Don't worry. You're meeting him on Thursday night. We're going to see a special screening of _Dr. Strangelove_. I told him to be on his best behavior, otherwise you wouldn't let me see it with him."

"Damn right," growled Puck, with his mouth full.

**XXXXxxxxxxx **

They wore each other out that night. Her desire for him was insatiable; his capacity to satisfy her, unending. It was like the last time, amplified by three.

"Finn", she gasped finally, when they could no longer move, "we're going to be the death of each other, oh my God." Gone was any remembrance of Brody. It was if he had never existed, despite his technique, overwhelmed by her physical passion for Finn, this huge, organic, growing thing, without limits and beyond control. What had begun, so long ago, as a quiet, certain love, was now a raging flood of feeling that overwhelmed her individual identity. It was as if he resonated to her very roots, and, for the first time in her young life Rachel fully understood what it would mean to bear their child. Its soul spoke to her from the future, in some gloriously wordless language, and she felt his tousled, curly dark hair, saw his solemn, brown-eyed gaze, and heard a laugh that would light up the world.

"I know what you saw." Finn's voice seemed to come from deep within him. She wasn't sure if he was even speaking. "I've seen him, too."


	21. Chapter 21

They were having a blast at the after-party. The premiere of _West Side Story _had been anamazing success, with encore after encore. Rachel, Tom and Emily stayed together and let Finn bask in the accolades with the cast and crew that had risen triumphantly to the challenges he threw at them. He was so proud of everyone, he had said, in an almost tearful, heartfelt speech.

"God, these deviled eggs are amazing," Tom mumbled with his mouth full. Rachel's dads were friends with the best caterer in Lima, and convinced him to supply every party after all seven sold-out performances for just extra advertising in the _Lima Guardian_. They even told her they would cover the costs.

Emily nudged Rachel, who was looking at Finn and the two leads mixing easily with the principal, the donor, and some city dignitaries who showed up because for two weeks before the show, the talk of the community was that _West Side Story _was the place to be. "I'd watch that Dr Chastain, Rachel," she said, winking, "I think she's in luuuuuv."

It was sort of true. The principal had been facing serious challenges to her job—test scores for Lima High had been slipping, and to justify programs for the arts, she had to show results. Once she had confided to Finn that she thought the assignment of two first-year music teachers had been a deliberate decision by the school superintendent, who was widely known to have little interest in keeping the arts in the schools, to set Dr Chastain up to fail. The pressure for _West Side Story_ to be a success had, therefore, been tremendous. Finn's ideas for bringing the community together as part of the production not only made the show a success, but made it difficult for the superintendent (who wasn't at the party) to complain.

Finn, accompanied by Dr Chastain, made it over to them.

"I want to thank you all sincerely for your help," she said. "Now that you're done, are you heading back to New York?"

"We talked it over," Rachel said, "And Tom and Emily will be heading back tomorrow." She took Finn's arm, enjoying Emily's barely hidden snicker. "I'll be staying for the rest of the performances."

"You don't have to do that," Finn said.

Rachel gently out her finger on his lips. "You came to all my performances as Maria." Then she added, mischievously, "Besides, how else can I give you my… _notes_?"

He suddenly blushed. Fortunately, the principal had already moved on to talk to the assistant school superintendent, who had come in her boss's stead, because all he wanted to do at that moment was to go to bed with Rachel. The last weeks had been crazy, with them working together at the school and then staying up til ridiculous hours making love. It taught him something about them that he had never quite pieced together before.

He and Rachel always had passion for each other, and he knew much of that was driven by what he had thought was musical chemistry. But the last two weeks had shown him that it wasn't just musical. It was more fundamental than that. Their passion, the true basis for the tether, was rooted in creating art _together._ Mutual acts of creativity, that flow of energy from one artist to another, are what turned Rachel and Finn on more than anything else. He had always adored sex with Rachel, but the last two weeks, free of old heartbreak, and filled with mutual creative energy, had taken their sex life to almost dizzying heights. It was like Rachel said all the time: it was all about the art.

But that was just the tether, the force that brought them together. The tether didn't cause them to fall in love. That was a matter of _human_ chemistry, the potent mix of intangibles that made two different people aspire to be better for each other.

The passion was rising in intensity, and they hadn't reached anywhere near the crescendo. But he knew why that was. Someday, the culmination of this passion for art and their adoration of each other would converge. A soul was waiting, out there, for incarnation; he was speaking to them now from a future when the time was right, when physical passion and undying love brought about the right combination of genes. Their son was waiting for them to bring about that future; it was all up to them.

For the first time he wondered if teaching was the way to bring that future about.

**XXXxxxxx**

The next morning, the four of them had breakfast before heading to Dayton**. **

"Can we miss our flight?" Emily asked, mouth full of Finn's now beloved pancakes.

"Yeah, Ridgewood Eats just doesn't compare. " Tom chimed in.

"Finn, baby, you're going to have to get used to people other than me, of course, wanting you in New York," Rachel said.

"Yeah, Finn baby," Emily crooned, hanging on his arm.

"I'll get there," Finn said, laughing, "In due time."

On the ride to Dayton, they talked about the new musical. Tom had an idea about having the lead actors in the first act play their children in the second. Emily liked the idea, and Rachel seemed neutral at first, but came around the more she pondered it. "I'd like the challenge of playing my older self," she said at one point, "But I can see playing two roles as well."

"What about you, Finn?" Tom asked.

Finn thought about it for a moment.

"Well, it's not my musical… but from my perspective, I think it would be a mistake."

Tom, who was sitting in the back, leaned forward and grabbed Finn's shoulders.

"Come on," he urged, "Tell us what you think!" Rachel squeezed his thigh in encouragement.

"Rach, it's like what we talked about in London, remember? The audience is going to get used to you as Madeline in the first act. If you switch roles, they'll spend a lot of time in the second act trying to adjust, and may miss some important stuff. It's…" He paused, trying to verbalize what he could see in his mind's eye. "…I guess what I mean is, you have this story that you're telling, right? And the audience is caught up in the flow, like swimming in a river. Throwing in this…distraction, breaks the flow, you know?"

"Damn…" Tom was silent for a moment.

Emily squealed, then punched Tom's arm, playfully. "I'm beginning to think Finn's the brains of this outfit."

Tom chuckled. "Finn, I couldn't agree more with what you said. Rachel, looks like you age 40 years in the second act!"

Rachel laughed, but said nothing. She was beginning to see the basis for an artistic commune. Tom was the musical creator, and Emily informed his music with motion, and made it accessible. Rachel's role was that of musical interpreter. And Finn—oh, her Finn—was the dramatic contributor and, dare she think it, the _director_. He seemed to have a sixth sense about what would work or not work when it came to that, and the quarterback in him instinctively brought people together. He was the calm counterweight to their high-strung personalities. In fact, she saw, with almost blinding clarity, how the dynamic that made Finn and her work would also be the perfect dynamic to make this group successful. The potential synergy from this collaboration could be profound, she thought. If they could only harness that…

She kept that to herself, for now.

**XXXXxxxxxx **

The next day, Finn had some details to work out with the principal. Rachel took the opportunity to spend the morning with her dads, then called Tom and Emily while she waited for Finn to swing by to take her to dinner, then the performance.

She told them about her ideas on the commune, and Finn's potential role in it.

"Rachel, we've had the same feeling about Finn," Tom said. "The whole concept of reaching out beyond the established Broadway community where possible makes perfect sense where Finn is concerned. I think he'd be the perfect director. And he wouldn't have to get deeply involved until we have more of the musical fleshed out, but we could keep him in the loop."

Rachel felt a thrill of excitement, and a challenge.

"I'm going to bring the possibility up at dinner," she said.

He took her to Breadstix before the show. "They still have vegan meatballs," he said, making her laugh. She chose the meatless manicotti, while he enjoyed real meatballs with his spaghetti. He complimented her on her blue dress—it was the one she wore to _Grease_, and she chose it, more than anything, to show how far they had come. The sadness of the breakup was becoming a distant memory.

"Finn, I have something to say, and something to ask." They were enjoying coffee and sharing a tiramisu for dessert.

He looked at her, expectantly.

"You have done an incredible job here, Finn, you realize that, right?"

"I have a great muse," he replied, smiling.

"What I mean is, you showed an amazing ability to not only direct the show, but also act almost as a producer as well. Do you have any idea how difficult that is to pull off, especially with untrained students? Tom and Emily and I are just floored with respect."

She knew he wasn't used to that kind of praise from anyone other than herself, and she lovingly understood why he thought she just might be biased. But when she brought in Tom and Emily as well, whom he regarded as true (and unbiased) professionals, it somehow solidified that opinion. It also showed that Rachel's faith in him had always been professional, and not colored by her love.

"Tom says you may have a better grasp of the dramatic flow of the musical than he does. And you know how he feels about bringing in talent outside of the established Broadway community."

"Like the former Fanny Brice?" he asked drily, arching his eyebrow, and she laughed.

"You know what I mean. I'm only 20 years old and with one show under my belt."

Finn was leaning forward now. She could tell he sensed a point coming.

"The bottom line is, and it's unanimous, that we want you to be the director of _Beneath the Cobblestones_."

"Right now? But I have gym."

She looked at him for a second before what he said registered, then Rachel just burst into giggles. He smiled slowly, but soon became serious.

"Let me get this straight. You're asking me, some guy with no professional experience, to direct what could become a major Broadway play?"

She nodded over her coffee cup.

"But what about school? What about my degree?" He knew the answer to that.

"This would require putting that plan on hold, possibly permanently. It would also mean…" She took his hands. "…moving to New York and living with me. Definitely permanently."

Finn sighed. She could tell he had put a lot of effort and emotional energy into finishing his degree, and, truth be told, Rachel had been very proud of his achievements. But that didn't change her long-standing belief in him being a true artist at heart.

"You could apply to some New York schools, Finn, if the musical doesn't get off the ground—there are lots of obstacles to shows, as you know. But you are New York good, surely this experience has taught you that! You brought an entire community together!"

She had a point, he had to know that.

He pondered the idea. "Rach, the offer sounds almost too good to be true. To be in New York, with you, directing a Broadway play? Are you kidding? I know you don't think so, but the truth is, I am still just some guy from Ohio."

"Just like I was some girl from Ohio?" At that moment she remembered Cassies distasteful remark about her home state.

"You know that's—"

"Different? How so? Because I have the talent and you don't, is that what you still think, after all this?" She leaned forward. "Listen, Finn—I trusted you at the train station, and I've trusted you when you told me I could be a success. All I'm asking is that you trust my judgment about you. My cold, professional judgment, and Tom and Emily's as well. This isn't a case of a lover's blind spot, Finn."

She could see him softening.

"Look, there's no need for a decision right away. And I want you to know something else." She got up, slid into the booth next to him, and squeezed his arm, placing her head on his shoulder. "If you decide the offer is the best thing for you, and you move to New York and live with me forever, I'll be the happiest and proudest girl on the planet. But if you think staying here and finishing your degree, then coming to New York and living with me forever is best for you, I'll still be the happiest and proudest girl on the planet, Okay? It's not about me, baby. It has to be all about you and what's best for you."

Then she kissed him and said, "Let's go make some art."

**A/N: reviews welcome!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: sorry for the delay in updates. **

From the bench outside the dining hall, up on a small hill, Finn could see the University of Lima campus spread before him. He had a fondness for it that went beyond just the typical student's affection for his alma mater. For him, this was the place where he took his stand, and stopped the insidious slide towards Lima Loserdom. This was where the tide had turned. That teaching degree was his passport out of his childhood home, and the key to finally marrying the only woman he ever loved. It was his validation, too: proof he wasn't just a dumb jock born to work in a tire shop. Or so he thought.

But now he was being made an offer that seemed almost too good to be true. And if it was successful, it could mean a career completely different than the one he had planned and been working towards.

"You look pensive," He looked up. Gina was standing there. He smiled, and patted the bench.

"C'mon, take a load off," he said, "I need to talk to somebody about something."

She looked very pretty, sitting there, in skinny jeans and a red U of L sweatshirt . Over the last six months she had dropped most of what she called her baby fat. She and Vera had been running together and eating better, and the results had been great. Duncan definitely appreciated her svelte new look; Finn loved how the two of them had remained devoted to each other.

"So what do you want to talk about?"

"Rachel, Tom and Emily want me to direct their musical."

"And…?".

"And what?"

"When are you leaving?"

He stared at her. "What?"

Gina laughed. "Good God, Finn, you aren't thinking of turning it down, are you?"

"Well, I do want to take some time to consider it."

"Are you serious? What's to consider?" She patted his knee. "Honey, it's a no-brainer. You get to experience being in on a musical from the ground up, working and living with the love of your life, in the Big Apple? " She paused, her eyes narrowing. "You aren't starting to think you aren't good enough again, are you? Hasn't _West Side Story_ taught you anything about your capabilities? "

"No, I…"

"Okay, I'm going to lunch. I can see Vera coming over. Maybe she can talk some sense into you." Gina got up, and he watched her fill Vera in. Vera looked puzzled, then sat down next to Finn.

"Coming to lunch?" she asked. He shook his head.

"I'm waiting for Rachel. She wanted to try some new place's vegetarian wraps."

"Let us know how it is."

"Will do."

She got to the point.

"I assume you'll be staying here to the end of the semester at least." Her face was unreadable.

"I haven't decided on the offer to direct yet."

"Why not? What on earth would keep you here in Lima?"

"Maybe I want to teach."

"C'mon, Finn, you know you could go back to school later, and in New York, too. And you could be with Rachel."

"I know—" her hands on his cut him off.

"You sound like a man trying to talk himself out of something he wants desperately... Why?"

He knew she was right. He tried distracting himself by thinking how gorgeous Vera was looking lately, now that she and Gina were running together. She didn't have the sleekly-muscled dancer's figure Emily had-hers was slightly more angular in places—but the exposure to the sun from the running gave color to her fair skin. And she was smiling more, too.

Finn knew part of his problem was, he didn't want to leave his friends behind. They had become close over the past few years—closer than most of his high school friends, and their lives had become intimately interwoven.

"What do you think, Vera?"

"You know I don't want to see you leave us." He nodded. He and Vera were particularly close. "And, frankly, I think you would make a wonderful music teacher. You probably would have made a great football coach, too." She clasped her hands in her lap. "But you were a quarterback. And quarterbacks lead and direct, not teach."

It was this kind of clear, honest thinking that Finn admired in Vera. Over the years they had become each other's confidant and support system. He knew she had once held romantic interests in him, but over time they had became more like brother and sister. She had begun discussing potential dates with him. In fact, he actually knew about her and Barry before anyone else did. She said what he had built with Rachel was an inspiration to her. And he confided in Vera when the separation from Rachel got to him. Rachel used to tease him, calling Vera his "social wife."

"So you think I should take the offer?"

"I think you should do what will make you happy. But I want to tell you a little secret— Gina will probably kill me for saying this."

"A secret?"

"We were going to surprise you, because we knew you were planning on going for your Master's in New York. Well, Gina and Duncan I are, too. You mentioned Queens College—that's where we're applying, among others." She took his hands in hers. "So you see? Whatever you decide, all of us will be together eventually, in New York. You'll have your Rachel, too, and maybe a brilliant directing career as well." She smiled.

"You kind of inspired us to see ourselves in a bigger world than Lima."

And he shook his head, because it wasn't him, but a small girl with huge dreams that did that.

"That was Rachel, not me," he said, and tears filled his eyes because sometimes his love for her overwhelmed him.

"You asked me what I think. Well, I think you can't be apart from her much longer." Vera was giving him this compassionate look. "You have a chance to direct the love of your life in a play. Both of you get to do what you love most with the person you love most. Please tell me you realize how awesomely romantic that is, and how few people ever get to say they did that. And don't give me any bullshit about not deserving it, because I know that's what you're thinking as well." There were tears in her eyes now.

"You're a decent man, Finn. And you deserve her love. And you've made friends who love you because you deserve it as well. Your happiness may have been hard-won, but you've earned it nonetheless. Go be with her. You come alive when she's around."

And he hugged her, because he knew how hard it was for her to say. She got up.

"I'm hungry. I swear all that running has given me an appetite like yours." She put a hand on his shoulder, and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Whatever you decide, don't worry about us—we have your back."

Finn sat alone for a few more minutes, then got up to drive over and pick Rachel up. He didn't say much on the way to the restaurant, and kept the discussion to the show that evening. He knew Rachel would be dying inside as to his decision, if any, and, being in a mischievous mood, decided to just not talk about it. It was a testament to their relationship that he could be playful like this. Vera was right—he did come alive when she was with him.

"These wraps are delicious!" she commented brightly, so _her_, and she looked so pretty, with her beaming smile, and her hair in a beautiful ponytail. His chest clenched as he thought about how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this woman, who could level him with just a comment on a vegetarian wrap. And he came to his decision right then, but decided to wait until later. He didn't want to tell her in a public place. He wanted to be holding her close to him, alone.

She texted him during his afternoon class:

_***I miss you already* **_

Walking to the next class, he answered:

_***Let's skip the show tonight ;)* **_

He could feel her spluttering, over at her dad's house:

_***Finn Hudson, we are not skipping the show, and you know it***_

He chuckled, answering on the way into the classroom:

_***I know, I just wanted to see you splutter* **_

Her reply almost made him laugh out loud:

_*** :P ***_

**XXXxxxx**

The performance had its problems that night, but it was nothing he couldn't handle, calling audibles, and putting out fires. Vera's reminder that he had been a quarterback guided him, and he soon realized just how apt and effective thinking like one was for this kind of work. The stereotype of the physically impressive but dumb jock was hard to dispel in this culture, and was made all the more tragic when the athletes themselves buy into it. The fact was, Finn was far more intelligent than even he let himself believe, and when it came to the arts, he was prone to credit Rachel for his success. That night, however, it became clear to him that, while she truly was his muse, the credit for the nuts-and-bolts work of getting the production off the ground and running belonged to him. A coach may teach and inspire an offense, but it's up to the quarterback to actually lead and execute it. That night he saw the cast and crew look to him not only for solutions to the unexpected issues, but also the orders to execute those solutions. Rachel confirmed his success by reporting that, from the point of view of the audience, there had been no issues at all to the resulting performance. He was so glad she had stayed to attend all of the performances; her expert feedback from the seats was invaluable.

The after party was joyful. Finn was so proud of the cast, especially Jerry and Nancy, the leads. Jerry could act, and thought he couldn't sing.; Nancy could sing, but thought she couldn't act. It was now clear to everyone, including themselves, , that they could do both. What made this show a joy to Finn was seeing everyone trying to outdo the previous performance.

Dr Chastain was ecstatic. She hung on Finn's arm, almost reluctantly giving it up to Rachel, but he understood her feelings: given how the community was reacting to these shows (especially after Finn had charmed a local TV news reporter with free tickets), the superintendent was going to be hard-pressed to try and defund the arts in his district. And she credited it all to Finn, which made him decidedly uncomfortable, but Rachel was quick to tell him that much of the credit was indeed, his.

"Just look around you, Finn—look at the joy on the kid's faces, and how Dr Chastain wants to get into your pants- you have been amazing. I am so proud of you." She tried kissing him then, but his mouth was full of deviled egg.

"Tom was right—these are outstanding!" he managed to get out before Rachel eventually locked his lips down in front of everyone. He suddenly realized that he wanted her so badly—she was wearing the dress she wore at the _Grease _ performance, saying she wanted to exorcise the ghosts from it, and didn't it just make her legs look good?

Awesome, was more like it, he thought, and returned her kiss.

**XXXxxxx**

She was clinging to him in bed, exhausted, as they lay, spent, after some of the most intense sex they ever had. It was beyond the love they had for each other, now. It was even beyond passion driven by the tether. Something else was behind it, and that night they both knew who it was. They had to make the life they wanted for each other first; this ecstasy together was only a hint at the joy they would find when that happened. All they had been through, all of the heartache and struggle and suffering, self-inflicted and otherwise, would finally prove its worth, because it had never, ever, been just about the two of them. It was about him, too.

And as they lay entwined, Finn stroking his love's face, over and over, telling her tearfully how he wanted to come to New York and direct the play and live with her forever because he trusted her with his life, they could hear their future, their brown eyed, curly-haired future, laughing sweetly in the room.


	23. Chapter 23

He left his birthplace for good after Christmas, headed towards their future in that battered truck, with all of his belongings, and the woman he loved sitting beside him. The pale winter morning sun was in their eyes as he pulled the truck onto I-70 east. He looked over at Rachel. She sat, hands in her lap, eyes almost closed, saying nothing.

"You okay?" She didn't move her head.

"I've been waiting for this for so long," she said, "I'm sometimes afraid to even wish for fear of jinxing it."

"And now?"

"Let me just…savor it for a while, okay?"

"Sure." He smiled and focused on the road, glad to be on their first real road trip together. A song came to him, one they both knew well, so he just started singing, hoping she would join in:

_**"Let us be lovers we'll marry our fortunes together" **_

_**"I've got some real estate here in my bag" **_

_**So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner pies **_

_**And we walked off to look for America **_

He smiled as a look of delight appeared on her face. She joined him, in perfect harmony (how could she not?) on the second verse, soaring into the heavens on the last two lines:

_**"Kathy," I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh **_

_**"Michigan seems like a dream to me now" **_

_**It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw **_

_**I've gone to look for America **_

We sound better than Simon and Garfunkel, he thought, almost smugly.

_**Laughing on the bus **_

_**Playing games with the faces **_

_**She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy **_

_**I said "Be careful his bowtie is really a camera" **_

Oh, how he loved it when she laughed. Oh, how he loved her when she sang, because her eyes shone with _that light_, and his chest filled with her joy.

_**"Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat" **_

_**"We smoked the last one an hour ago" **_

_**So I looked at the scenery, she read her magazine **_

Their voices joined perfectly, delicately, slowly, on the next, achingly beautiful line, making his hair stand on end:

_**And the moon rose over an open field **_

Her dark eyes flashed at him then, her soul one with his now, as they worked the last verse at the top of their lungs:

_**"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping **_

_**I'm empty and aching and I don't know why **_

_**Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike **_

_**They've all gone to look for America **_

_**All gone to look for America **_

_**All gone to look for America **_

They sang songs, and talked about the musical. On coffee stops they sat on benches, leaning together just like Artie's photograph. And they talked about the vision of their son, and how he would be called Chris, and, once, Rachel felt him inside her, even though she wasn't pregnant. Everything Rachel and Finn would do from now on, the creative effort, the joy of music, and their love for each other, was all for him. For he would be, truly, their happy ending: the best gift the man who never knew his father and the woman who barely knew her mother could give each other.

**XXXxxxxxx**

They lived in the loft for two years, collaborating with Tom and Emily to finish _Beneath the Cobblestones, _and getting it produced_. _ Being involved almost from the play's inception gave Finn insight more experienced directors would kill for, and it was his decision-making ability and relaxed, persuasive style that convinced Billie West and Jerry Fineman to ultimately fund the project as proposed, and it was his inspired decision to cast Kurt and Santana as the children, making it a truly communal effort.

The public proved receptive to a play that celebrated idealism and the virtues of selflessness, family, and love: _Beneath the Cobblestones_ surprised everyone by jumping to Broadway after only a month, and flabbergasted the Broadway community by garnering more Tony nominations than any other show that year, given the relative obscurity of its creative group.

Typically, Finn cared little about not winning Best Direction for A Musical, and Emily shrugged off losing Best Choreography to a more experienced choreographer. Both cared far more about winning for Best Musical, Tom winning Best Original Score, and Rachel being honored with Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical.

Industry people at the after-party noticed Finn and Rachel in a deep conversation, alone in a corner of the ballroom, and went berserk when they rejoined the festivities, Rachel now wearing an engagement ring. Kurt, Santana and Emily cried, everyone drank champagne far into the night, and Tom revealed he had an idea for another musical.

Their communal creative style wasn't lost on the press. They never really ever had a name for themselves, and were delighted when they began to be referred to as New Woodstock, so much so, that they formed a company and called themselves New Woodstock Productions.

**XXXxxxx**

They were married on a Saturday, in a small, quiet ceremony at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, under a simple chuppah. Rachel's family rabbi, Rabbi Abravanel, presided. Kurt was Best Man, Santana was Maid-of-Honor, and Tom and Emily filled out the rest of the party. Both of her dads gave Rachel away, walking her down the aisle together, one on each arm.

She wore the simple, patient dress she picked out when she was seventeen; he wore a simple black suit. And they smashed the mug he bought in Chicago, symbolically wiping away the pain and heartbreak they had suffered finding their way back to each other.

He surprised her with the Manhattan apartment—the one she had gushed over the week before—as a wedding present. Best of all, Tom and Emily, who were now engaged, scored the one across the hall from them, and both came with enough room for baby grand pianos, and tolerant neighbors.

They honeymooned in Northern California, staying in small hotels and bed-and-breakfasts in the wine country of the Napa and Sonoma valleys. It was the perfect, Zen-like quiet they needed to simply be Finn and Rachel, alone and in love, and getting ready for the next chapter in their lives.

It was time.

**XXXxxxxx**

He was sitting at the baby grand, concentrating on a line for a song. Tom had surprised him a month ago by suggesting they collaborate on composing a new musical. They even brainstormed the basic idea for the story together, and agreed to divvy up the songwriting. It was about a restless Iraq veteran who travels to India and returns to become a rock star/prophet. "It'll be our generation's 'Tommy'!" Tom said one night. "Do you know anyone who can play sitar?"

He was working on a song for Rachel to sing. Her part was the man's loyal, doomed wife. And the third line just wasn't working. He sighed, then realized he had company. Chris was standing next to him, regarding him solemnly.

"Hey bud," he said, rustling his four-year-old son's dark, curly hair. "I thought you were over playing with Amélie."

"I was," Chris said. "Aunt Emily says she has to take a nap now. She's only _three_."

"Ah. I keep forgetting you're all grown up." He loved how Chris looked at him as if he had a keen grasp of the _obvious_. Finn also didn't bring up the fact that Chris had his own nap to take, only later.

"Are you writing songs again?" Chris had recently become fascinated with the idea that his dad and Uncle Tom could _write songs_.

"I sure am. This one is for Mommy to sing."

"Can I help, Daddy?" Chris always wanted to help his mom or dad with things, now that he was four. Amélie was only _three_, you see, and couldn't help like he could.

"Sure!" He picked up his son and placed him in his lap. "Want to help me play the music first?"

"Can I?"

"You bet." He placed one of the fingers of Chris's left hand on the F key, and another finger on the A key, two over. The index finger of Chris's right hand went on the C key, two keys over from the A. "Okay, son, now press all of the keys down together."

A loud F-major chord resulted, and Chris beamed in delight.

"That's great! You just played the first note for Mommy's song!" Finn made a great deal of writing that down on some music paper, then tickled his son as a reward.

"Daddy?" Chris finally asked, when he had stopped squealing. "When we're done writing Mommy's song, can we go play catch in the park?"

"Well, you've helped so much, I think we can go outside now. What do you think?"

Chris jumped off his lap and ran to his room to get his shoes and the little nerf football they used. Finn took that opportunity to check on Rachel, who was taking her own nap in the bedroom. The other love of his life was snoring. He kissed her and left a note, saying he'd wear Chris out for _his _nap.

Then maybe he'd take one himself before dinner. What a life.

**FIN**

**The lyrics are from "America", by Paul Simon. I'd like to thank all of the readers and reviewers who stuck with this long story. I hope it gave Finchel the happy ending they deserved. **


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